Sweet Salvation
by vdogrrl44
Summary: Goren and Eames' investigation into a girl's killer leads them down unknown paths when Eames goes undercover. BA and will be 'M' later. Case StoryRomance.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note: Ok – this is my very first attempt at a real case file. This story will evolve into a B/A relationship, but you'll have to be patient with me. Any suggestions or help would be greatly appreciated. To all my lovely reviewers – I love you. Smooches to all_.**

* * *

Alexandra Eames was enjoying her first peaceful nights sleep in over 3 months.

Sleep had become increasingly elusive ever since her kidnapping. Hardly a night would pass unless accompanied by the chilling screams of young girls and the sharpening of knives reverberating in her ears. Tonight, she seemed to have been granted a reprieve as her steady breathing took her into a deep and dreamless slumber.

It would have been perfect if not for the annoying vibration of her cell phone beating a path across her nightstand.

"Eames," she answers groggily.

"Alex, I need you down at the Museum of Modern Art ASAP. The body of a young woman was just found on the steps, possibly stabbed to death." Captain Ross' weary voice reflected the early hour and his newly awakened state.

"Ok, should I call Goren?" she asks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"He's already on his way. He said he would meet you there," Ross replies. "Report back as soon as you have any details, I'm going into the office now."

"Yes, sir," Alex says, disconnecting the call and quickly dressing. Late night calls were always a bitch and a half. It always pissed her off that her fellow male officers could roll out of bed and still arrive at the crime scene looking exactly as they ordinarily do at any other time of the day. Being a woman, it required a lot more effort into looking professional and yet, somewhat attractive when forced to roll right out of bed at 4 a.m.

After brushing her hair vigorously, Alex brushes her teeth and swipes some lipstick on and runs out of her apartment.

Of course Bobby would be there before her. It seemed that Bobby was always the first one Deakins' or Ross called and if she dwelled on that too much it could quite rightly offend her. Even though she was technically the senior detective in their partnership, she never once pulled rank on Bobby. Their partnership works best when they are both on equal ground, their individual talents working in tandem.

As Alex approached the Museum, she could make out dozens of police lights in front of the building. Placing her NYPD marker on the dash, she exited the car and approached the area surrounded by yellow police tape.

And there he was. Sniffing and prodding at the poor girl's ravaged body, searching intently for any clues that may aid in their investigation. His unique technique initially irked her as it did most, but Alex quickly came to appreciate and secretly admire Bobby's ferocious tenacity in his quest to bring justice to those who could not seek it for themselves.

"Was the Degas' exhibition that bad?" she sarcastically cracked.

At the sound of her voice, Bobby's eyes looked up at Alex. "She's still warm, Eames. The killer couldn't have been here but 30-45 minutes ago."

"What do you think? Was she killed right here or did they just dump her?" Alex asks pulling on her latex gloves.

"It must have happened right near here and they dumped her quickly," he said.

"I can't see any bloodstains on the surrounding steps. If the perp stabbed her here, there would be blood spatter somewhere," she says, pulling up the girl's shirt and examining the deep gashes in her chest and abdomen.

"Christ, Bobby. Whoever did this was sloppy."

"And brutal," he adds. "It looks like our girl fought like hell too," he says, picking up her hands and pointing to the deep gashes on her hands and forearms.

"Hopefully our girl here got some of this mutt's DNA under her fingertips. Christ, Bobby, she's so young," Alex says taking in the short white shirt and flirty top the girl was dressed in. No place for ID, she notes. "She looks like she could have been clubbing. How the hell did she end up on the steps of MoMA?" Alex says.

"Don't know if it's symbolic or just plain desperation on our guy's part," he answers. "Either way, it's our case now. The mayor doesn't like dead bodies on the steps of his newly renovated museum."

"Well, let's get her on the bus and hopefully the ME can shed some light on our young Jane Doe," Alex says, standing up straight next to Bobby.

"Did you bring your car or do you need a lift back to the station with me," Alex asks.

"I took a cab here," Bobby replies walking to the SUV next to Eames.

On the drive back to 1PP, Alex keeps flashes back to the victim's face; strong cheekbones and glassy, startled blue eyes that will remain etched in her mind forever. Shaking off the macabre thoughts, Alex glances at Bobby, sitting silent in the passenger seat. They still haven't gotten their groove back, even after the Harrington case. Since Bobby's outburst a few weeks ago at the office, their conversations are limited to work or nothing of relevance at all. She no longer asks after his mother; He no longer tries to subtly question her about her therapy or health.

The last and only time they have spoken of the day he walked out on her in the squad room was the very night it happened.

_Flashback_

_Trying in vain to forget her feelings of anguish over a steaming cup of hot cocoa, Alex_ _was curled up on her couch when she heard a quiet knock on her door._

_She got up and wrapped her flannel robe around her and found herself looking at Bobby's exhausted face through her peephole._

_Flipping the deadbolts back, Alex opened the door to find Bobby shivering from head to toe._

"_Bobby?" she says concerned. "Come in here. Why are you shivering? Is everything alright?" she asks, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Of course everything is not okay, dummy. His mother is dying and his control is walking a jagged edge. Be careful, Alex._

"_I-I needed to talk to you," he says in a soft whisper, sitting down on her couch. "I'm so sorry, Eames. I feel -," Bobby says, placing his fist against his mouth. "You have to know that what I said back in the bullpen wasn't directed towards you," he implores, "that was for Ross' benefit. Mostly, it was just my temper getting the better of me."_

_Alex wraps one of her throw blankets around Bobby's shoulders trying to ward off the tremors racking his body._

"_Bobby, I'm not going to lie to you. I'm still really upset, but let's not rehash the past couple of days, please. You look like hell and I'm exhausted, so let's just agree, right now, that we won't think about it tonight," Alex says gently her hands up and down his arms, desperately trying to generate heat within Bobby's body._

_Offering him her still steaming hot chocolate, she tenderly strokes the wayward curls on his head. "Bobby, I wish there was something I could do for you. But even if there was," she says, hesitating, "you wouldn't let me."_

"_I can't stop shivering, Eames. It's a goddamn Indian summer outside and I feel like I've trekked here from Antarctica," he says, ignoring her statement._

"_Come on, Bobby," Alex says, grabbing his hands and pulling him up from the couch and leading him to her bedroom. "You're in no shape to drive home so just lay down here and get some sleep," she says, pulling his jacket off his shoulders and laying it on her dresser._

"_Eames, I can't take your bed," Bobby protests._

_Alex pushes his large frame down on the soft down mattress and takes up the chore of untying his shoes. "Bobby, you're not pushing me out of my bed," she says, placing his shoes in front of her closet. "I'm sleeping here, too. There is no way I'm going to sleep on my lumpy couch and I wouldn't subject you to that particular torture tonight."_

_As Alex snuggles down into her bed, Bobby's hand reaches across and places it on her shoulder. "Eames," he says in an agonized voice, "I…you are helping me, Eames. I just can't seem to bring myself to ask for help right now," he speaks in a rushed voice. "It sounds ridiculous and irrational, but I'm scared that the second I speak my fears, it will all come crashing down on me."_

A deep pang of sorrow throbs in Alex's chest. "It's going to be alright, Bobby. Just get some sleep," she implores him.

"_I'm so tired, just so tired," he mumbles into the pillow._

"_Sleep," she says, "I'll be right here when you wake up."_

_In the pre-dawn hours, Alex awakens to find Bobby's heated body cradled against hers. With a small tug of her lips, she smiles, thankful that she can provide Bobby some measure of comfort._

_In the morning, when Alex stirs, she finds herself alone. The only indication that last night was not a dream is Bobby's jacket lying on her bedroom dresser._


	2. Chapter 2

**Medical Examiner's Office**

"Patrice Krowski, age 23, sustained multiple sharp force injuries, including several stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. The fatal wound was the result of transection of the left internal jugular vein and stab wounds of the chest and abdomen causing intrathoracic and intraabdominal hemorrhage," Medical Examiner Rodgers explains.

"A rage killing?" Alex asks.

Rodgers shrugs her shoulders with a nod, "This guy was determined, I can tell you that."

"Any trace evidence? DNA maybe underneath her fingernails?" Bobby asks, pointing her the girl's scarred hands.

"One lone piece of hair," Rodgers replies, lifting a small evidence bag, "I found it way down underneath her right index finger."

"Patrice fought this guy hard," Alex says, "look at those bruises on her arms. Cutting on her left and right hands, definitely defensive wounds."

"These stab wounds," Bobby asks, tracing the length of the girl's cuts, "what do you think? 4 maybe 5 inch blade?"

"Yeah, that's about right," Rodgers nods. "Most likely a sharp cutting tool, maybe used for hunting or carving wood. The wounds indicate the use of a sharp-pointed serrated knife."

"I willing to bet he surprised her," Bobby says, "She didn't know him and when she wouldn't go quietly, he probably got spooked and just started to repeatedly stab her. She put up a hell of a fight."

"I hope she went for his balls," Rodger said forcefully. "I have a daughter this age and I hope you find this guy and string him up. I'll bring the popcorn."

After leaving Rodgers, Bobby and Alex report back to their desks to scour over the new information they received on Patrice.

"Patrice was from Písek, a small town in the Czech Republic. She graduated college with a degree in early childhood education. She received a work visa in 2004 when she hooked up with a nanny referral service in Queens and was immediately placed in the household of Douglas Winterbourne to care for his two children." Alex says.

Bobby sorts through his paperwork quickly, "The Czech embassy confirms that Patrice had no criminal record to speak off. Her parents died in 2003 in a car crash, leaving Patrice and her younger sister, Svetlana on their own."

"Where's the sister now?" Alex asks.

"Says here that she currently resides in Prague. No other information available."

"Wait a sec," Alex says, "Douglas Winterbourne, that name sounds familiar," she turns and googles' his name.

"Here we go," she says, "Douglas Winterbourne, CEO of Winterbourne Enterprises. Became a multi-millionaire by the age of 32 when his company become the primary supplier of apparel to various chain super stores throughout the country."

"And check this out," Bobby says, leaning over her shoulder, pointing to the next paragraph. "His wife, Laura, died in 2003 from a congenital heart defect which worsened after the birth of their twins, Maya and James in 2002."

"Dead wife, now a dead nanny? Talk about bad luck with woman," she says dryly.

"Why don't we go and-" Bobby's train of thought skips when he realizes how close his face is to Alex's. Her deep searching eyes piercing his, creating a swirling vortex of emotion in his belly.

"Well," Alex sighs, backing away slightly, "where do you want to start? Winterbourne or the Nanny service?"

"Let's go check out her room at the Winterbourne house," Bobby says, standing up straight and reaching for his binder.

"Wow, we get to check out how the other half lives. Should I my Harry Winston jewels?" she teases.

Bobby laughs as they walk to the elevator. "Eames, don't you know by now that you are one of those woman who shouldn't wear too much jewelry?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she inquires.

"Some woman have a natural beauty that shouldn't be marred by gaudy accoutrements," he replies, sneaking a peak of her face to gage her reaction.

"I think you just gave me a compliment, Goren."

"Yeah, well," Bobby mumbles, "don't let it go to your head."


	3. Chapter 3

Just as Bobby and Alex exit the elevator and enter the lobby area of 1PP, Eames's cell phone rings. _Ross._

Flipping her phone, "Yes, Captain?"

Bobby watches in amusement as Alex's face goes from composed to extremely annoyed in two seconds flat.

"Now?" she says in an agitated voice. "Yes, I'll be right there," she says flipping her phone back.

"What's wrong, Eames?" Bobby asks.

"You won't believe this, I'm being called for a random drug test," she says.

"You have to go right now? We're in the middle of a case," Bobby says irritably.

"Well, that's the whole point of random, Goren," she says, rubbing her hand down her face.

"I'll wait for you and then we can--"

"No, Bobby it's going to take too long," she sighs.

"How long does it take to pee in a cup?" he asks with arms wide.

Alex tilts her head, "When's the last time you took a drug test?"

"I don't know. Aside from our annual physicals, the last time I got called randomly was back in 2003," he says.

"3 years? Random my ass, how do you get so lucky? I had one about a year and a half ago and it's not just peeing in a cup anymore, Bobby. They take blood and they also pluck a damn hair out of your head," she explains.

"No shit," Bobby says quietly.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," she snarks with a smile.

"So, it's okay for me to check this out on my own?" he asks delicately.

"If you don't mind going on your own, I'd rather not waste anymore time," she says. "Just be careful, you wouldn't want one of those rich elderly woman trying to hook you into being their pool boy."

"I'll make sure to avoid them," he smiles and watches her walk back to the elevators.

**Winterbourne Residence, Upper East Side**

_Eames wasn't kidding about how the other half lives_, Bobby thinks, as he strolls into the living room of the stylish townhouse.

"Mr. Winterbourne will be with you momentarily," the matronly maid says.

Giddy at the prospect of being able to wander the room unattended, Bobby's eyes wander back and forth, finding the room fashionably decorated with elegantly polished cherry floors and modern but plush furniture. By his own estimation, this townhouse in the affluent Lenox Hill neighborhood would probably sell for about six, maybe seven million dollars.

_That's more money then I'll ever see in my lifetime._

"Good Afternoon, Detective," a voice calls from behind him.

When Bobby turns he is surprised to find a relaxed and handsome looking man in his mid-forties.

"Mr. Winterbourne, I'm Detective Goren from Major Case," he says extending his hand, "I was hoping to ask you a few questions about Patrice."

"Of course, anything to help," he replies while giving Bobby a firm handshake.

"I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule," Bobby says, fumbling when opening his binder, "it will just be a few questions and then I'll be on my way."

"Not a problem. Please, have a seat," Winterborne says, indicating for Bobby to sit on the plush white couch next to him. "The children are just devastated about losing Patrice, and I'm just shocked."

Taking out his pen, Bobby asks, "How did Patrice come to be your nanny?"

"Through a nanny referral service my friend recommended. They specialize in placing high-quality nannies to shall we say, more affluent families," Winterbourne says.

"Do you have their information? The nanny referral service?" Bobby asks.

"Sure, they are located on Madison Avenue. Quality Care, Incorporated," he says.

"Can you tell me what kind of employee she was? Any trouble or have you noticed any unusual behavior recently?" Bobby questions.

"No, I can't think of anything unusual really. Patrice was quiet and reserved and besides the two nights a week she had off, she spent all of her time with the children. James and Maya, they just adored her."

Bobby nods sympathetically, "This must be difficult for your children. Losing another person they trusted, after already losing their mother. She passed away is that correct?"

Swallowing with some difficulty, Winterbourne nods, "Yes, my wife died of cancer almost three years ago. Even though they were both so young, they undoubtedly still feel her loss."

"It's difficult at any age to lose a mother," Bobby says absently. "You mentioned Patrice had two nights a week off, do you know what she did? Who she went out with?"

"I don't think she had any close friends. She sometimes went to a club or dinner with some of the other nannies she meets at the park. She was an excellent caregiver for my children, but she was still a young woman and liked to dance and have a few drinks. Besides coming home a few times a bit intoxicated, she was usually very reserved."

"When she came home intoxicated, did you have a problem with that?" Bobby asks.

"Well, of course. I was afraid she would wake the children and I wouldn't want them to see her in that state," Winterbourne replies, "After the last time, I told her that kind of behavior was unacceptable and that was the last time she came home inebriated."

"She must have been a godsend for you and your children. Losing your wife and having to deal with raising two young children must have been overwhelming. I'm surprised you haven't remarried. Did Patrice have anything to do with that?" Bobby inquires.

And with one question, Bobby managed to change the mood of the interview from one of understanding ease to prickly annoyance.

"I know what you are insinuating, Detective. You are not the first person to assume that I couldn't possibly have an attractive woman in my house without seducing her," Winterbourne says as he stands and places his hands on his hips. "I can assure you, I'm far too old to be fooling around with inexperienced naïve young girls."

"I didn't mean to offend," Bobby says apologetically. "Again, I appreciate your time and we'll be in touch."

As Bobby walks out of the elegant home, two thoughts enter his mind. The first is that Douglas Winterbourne is not all he seems. The second thought resounds louder in his mind: I've got to see what Eames thinks about all this.

Author's Notes: Reviews please!! I live for them. Story will pick up in a major way in the next chapter…it's going to be a bumpy ride…but well worth it!!


	4. Chapter 4

_I guess they don't teach bedside manner in nursing school._

Walking back to the squad room, Alex rubs the sore spot on her head where Nurse Ratchet pulled a strand of hair. Not just pulled – more like yanked in gleeful enthusiasm. After waiting for a half an hour for the nurse to come and get her, she had to endure another hour being poked and prodded all in the attempt to ensure that one of Major Cases' best detectives wasn't sniffing or inhaling any illegal drugs during her down-time.

Do I look like a damn junkie? And how does Bobby get away with not being called in 3 years for this particular torture? With all that fidgeting and hyperactivity a lot of people might misconstrue that for a serious coke problem.

The only explanation must be that Bobby's solve rate is so amazing that they pretty much let him do his thing as long as he doesn't break any laws. His conviction rate from Narcotics combined with our tremendous success at Major Case has allowed Bobby to enjoy a lot of leeway with the department. I just sometimes wonder if the department really sees us as a "team" and not a partnership akin to Sherlock and Watson.

_I am not, nor will I ever be a damn sidekick._

Hey, it's not like I'm complaining because our partnership has been just as satisfying to me as it has been for Bobby. My solve rate is just as stellar as his and I've learned a tremendous amount about profiling and the benefits of "thinking out of the box". It's just lately I've been craving more. Perhaps an opportunity to prove to myself that if Bobby and I weren't professionally linked, that I would be just as effective and successful in my work.

Shaking off the somber thoughts, Alex takes a seat at her desk, noticing Bobby behind closed doors in the captain's office.

_He's either got a lead or he's found a new way to get in trouble, she thinks._

Five minutes later when he returns to his desk, Eames notices the patent I'm on to something and yet again Ross just doesn't understand look that he frequently gets.

"Thank god you're back," he says, sitting down with a sigh. "Ross and I do not communicate well without you."

"That's because he thinks you are a overanalyzing fruitcake," she jokes.

"Yeah, well, at least I'm an intellectual fruitcake," he says, pulling out a file. "Him on the other hand," pointing to Ross' office, "he's just…just--"

"Reductive, I know," Alex says quietly. "Anyway, what did you find out at Winterbourne's?"

"Well, I found a middle-aged narcissist who claims to not know a thing about Patrice's life outside of her work responsibilities," Bobby says, leaning closer to Alex's side of the desk.

"Aww, sounds like you made friends," she quips. "Tell me more."

"He said she was referred by a friend to a nanny service that specialized in quality nannies and that Patrice was loved by his kids and generally a good employee."

"She sounds perfect. So how did she end up a murder victim?" Alex asks.

Bobby shrugs, "The only complaint was that she came home a few times drunk on her night's off. Otherwise, he claims that she had few friends and was a shy and reserved girl. When notified of Patrice's murder, he told the uniform officer that he was on a late-night conference call with Tokyo. His alibi is tight according to his phone records."

"Ok, so is he officially no longer a suspect?" Alex asks.

"He would have been if not for his very expensive and very long phone bill," Bobby says, placing the bill in Alex's hand.

Alex's eyes scan the paper, reading Bobby's highlighted notes. "What's this number you circled?"

"That," he says gesturing excitedly, "is an outgoing phone call made to Greg Vilente a week before Patrice's murder."

Alex sighs, frustrated at playing catch-up, "Who the hell is Greg Vilente?"

"Mr. Vilente," he says, sitting back down, "is a journalism major at Hudson University. He is also, as of last week, a murder victim."

With a raise of Alex's brow, Bobby passes her crime photos, "Here. His body was found a week ago today washed up on Rockaway Beach. His throat was cut and if it wasn't for the strong current at the particular time of day, he probably wouldn't have ever been found."

"So we have 2 murder victims in a week's time and the only connection we have so far is one single phone call," she says. "Can we take a peak at his belongings? I assume Homicide bagged most of it."

"Ross had to do some sweet talking to get Homicide to turn the stuff over. You know how they feel about us encroaching on their territory. It should be here any minute," Bobby says, bouncing his leg and making the desk shake.

"Well, if we can find some connection between Patrice and Vilente it should lead us right to their murderers," she says, thrusting her hand out to halt Bobby's pen holder from dancing across his shaking desk.

"Let's hope," Bobby says. "Hey, I haven't eaten today and I'm starved. Do you want to run down to the commissary with me and grab a bite?"

"Yeah, sounds good. We might as well eat now because I have a feeling that it's going to be a long day," Alex says pushing up from her chair and joining Bobby in the empty elevator.

Alex watches as Bobby's hand slightly fidgets when he presses the elevator button. He's never made it a secret to her that he doesn't care for confined spaces or dramatic heights. Still, she can sense something more in his silence.

"It was strange today," he says quietly, head bowed.

"What was?"

"Working this without you. I…I missed your presence and perceptiveness," he says hesitantly.

_He always seems to know just what to say._

"Thank you," she says with a slight smile, "I'm sure it would have been more stimulating than being harassed by a sadistic nurse."

When the sliding doors opened, they made their way to the counter and Bobby ordered his favorite club sandwich while Eames settled for a Caesar salad. Sitting down at the table, Bobby picked up the conversation from the elevator.

"You would've hated Winterbourne," he says in between bites.

"That bad?" she asks, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"He's all about the money and power. He projects the image of a concerned and loving father while not even bothering to really know about the woman taking care of them all day," he responds. "And from what I read, he seems to be a real love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. He's definitely smarmy."

Alex almost chokes on a piece of chicken, "Did you just use the word smarmy?"

"Yes," Bobby says with a perplexed look, "what's wrong with smarmy?"

"Nothing," she smirks with a shake of her head. "I just did think you even knew that word. I would have expected something more along the lines of fulsome or even worse, oleaginous."

"Do I really talk that way?" Bobby asks earnestly.

"Goren, you're a regular walking thesaurus. And encyclopedia. And a--"

"Alright, I got it," Bobby says with a shy smile. "Well, anyway he was _smarmy_," he says exaggerated, "you would have been revolted. He probably would have hit on you, too."

Alex nods and scrunches her face up, "Yeah, that sounds like the type of guy who usually flirts with me. They are either married or the creepy stalker type."

"Aw, come on Eames, Lewis loves to flirt with you and he's not married," he pauses, "and he's not a stalker. Can't vouch for the creepy part, though. He has a tendency to scare girls away. My man's a bit eager," he jokes.

"Poor Lewis," she says absently. "Do you really think Winterbourne had anything to do with these two murders? So far we have nada for a motive."

"He's hiding something, Eames," he says confidently, standing up and picking up their finished lunches. "C'mon, let's go see if Homicide dropped off their evidence boxes."

Back in the elevator going up to the eleventh floor, Bobby turns to Alex unexpectedly.

"Eames?" he says. "If it makes you feel better, I know for a fact that normal everyday guys would jump at the chance to flirt with you."

She turns with raised brow, "Who wants normal?" she says, looking into his eyes, "I'm afraid I have my heart set on an extraordinary man."

_Author's Notes: Big Plot move in Next Chapter…I think you are really gonna like it. Review me and let me know how I'm doing!_


	5. Chapter 5

They spent the last 2 hours rifling through Greg Vilente's personal belongings that Homicide begrudgingly handed over. Alex was more than happy to allow Bobby to go through Vilente's 635 page thesis draft titled, '_Media Journalism Effects during Wartime', _while she scanned address books and notebook entries.

"Between his overindulgent thesis and some of his homework assignments, I can tell that he was ambitious. But no where in his writings or notes does he make mention of anything remotely connected to Patrice or some other kind of foul play that we could possibly link them," Bobby says quietly, rubbing his fingers over his tired eyes.

Bobby's eyes turned to take in Alex's posture as she sat with her shoulders slumped and eyes moving determinedly back and forth across the pages of Vilente's effects.

"I think you want some coffee, right?"

Alex raises her eyes and laughs, "Do you have my coffee breaks memorized? You are one scary man sometimes."

Alex watches Bobby smile at her shyly before he walks through the doorway in search of some high-octane java that will keep her from falling asleep headfirst into one of the evidence boxes.

Picking up the next notebook on the pile, several loose pages fall to the floor.

"Shit," she groans, leaning down and shuffling the papers up in her hands. With a split-second glance, Alex stops and leans up on her chair, scanning the legal paper in front of her.

_Hot damn._

"Bobby," Alex yells out towards the practically empty squad room.

"What?" he says, reappearing with a concerned look on his face.

"I found it," she says, watching Bobby's eyes widen with excitement.

"Look," she says, extending the paper towards him, "Vilente spent the summer in the Czech Republic during his junior year of high school as part of a student exchange program. I'll give you two guesses as to who he exchanged with."

"Patrice Krowski."

"Right on one," Alex beams.

"Now we just have to find out the nature of their relationship," he says, placing her coffee in front of her and taking his seat across from her.

After another hour of theorizing and paper shuffling, Goren's head pops up animatedly.

"Eames," he says, handing over a tiny scrap of ripped notebook paper.

"The script matches his handwriting. It looks like a telephone message from Patrice dated the 21st of last month."

Alex reads aloud the words scribbled in front of her, "Westchester, Hillington Family. Svetlana, Missing."

"She was reaching out to him," Bobby says, eyes faraway in concentration, "for help with Svetlana. Someone didn't want Svetlana found?"

"So, they killed him," Alex says, "I just wonder if they killed him before or after he tried finding her?"

* * *

Office of Captain Ross

"Gerald and Majorie Hillington, of the Westchester Hillington's are currently on vacation in Greece, but luckily, their maid, Johanna was quite the talkative little birdie," Alex says, sitting comfortably during her and Goren's debrief with Captain Ross.

"She didn't recognize the photo of Patrice, but did mention that a young girl called a few weeks ago looking for a Svetlana. The maid said the girl was under the impression that Svetlana was the Hillington's nanny, but they've had the same nanny for the past four years."

"She did confirm that Gerald Hillington and Douglas Winterbourne were old friends who on the occasion, played 18 rounds of gold," Alex interjects.

"Okay, I officially have a headache," Ross says, sitting down. "So what's your theory on how this connects the two homicides?"

"Well," Bobby says, looking toward Alex, "Doesn't it all seem coincidental that Patrice thought her sister was working as a nanny for one of Winterbourne's oldest friends? She probably tried to contact her and when she found out that she didn't work for the Hillington's she reached out to Greg Vilente, probably the only person she knew here for help. Patrice probably thought Winterbourne was lying to her. Someone doesn't want Svetlana found. For their own selfish purposes or maybe there are hiding some far more sinister."

Alex hands Ross a bulging file folder. "Douglas Winterbourne has been cited by the Department of Labor two times in the past 18 months for using illegal immigrants in his manufacturing facilities. Maybe, Svetlana ended up there and if Vilente had found that out and reported it, Winterbourne would have faced some serious fines or even jail time. The Labor Department works on the three strikes your out motto."

"Goren, you think this guy won't cooperate?" Ross asks.

As she listens to Bobby's reply, Alex tries to hide the fact that she's biting the inside of her cheek in anger. She doesn't resent Bobby's brilliant observations or deductions, but it sure as hell gets old when no one bothers to ask her assessment of the situation.

_Just because I didn't meet Winterbourne doesn't mean I don't know this case just as well as Bobby. Hell, I actually found the first connection. _

Tapping down her emotions, Alex takes a deep breath and listens to Bobby's final few thoughts.

"We have zero physical evidence to go after Winterbourne and even more questions than answers. I think we need someone to get inside," Bobby says.

"You want me to send some undercover into Winterbourne's business?" Ross asks disbelievingly.

"No, actually," Bobby says softly, "I'm suggesting we put someone in Winterbourne's household."

Alex's head snaps in attention at Bobby's idea.

"He's too clever to keep any incriminating information at his work sites," he says, waving his crooked finger in the air, "he's the type who likes to keep things within hands reach. It would be in his home, probably his study or a secret stash on his property. We need someone who can gain his trust and acceptance. We need to find him a new nanny."

"Alright, I have to talk to the Chief of D's and see if this will float. I'll also get a few names of some officers who might be available to get in. I'm assuming he wouldn't go for a male nanny, right?"

"No, it has to be a woman, and an attractive one, too. Winterbourne is a grade A narcissist, he needs to be surrounded by beautiful things."

"Great, so not only are you asking me to get this passed by the higher ups, but we have to find an attractive undercover female officer to boot," Ross says with a smirk directed at Bobby.

Bobby's shrugs and smiles with enthusiasm.

"I'll do it."

Alex watches both Bobby and Ross' eyes widen and rest on her face.

Ross looks surprised and a little concerned at my spontaneous gesture of volunteerism. The other set of eyes are filled with a darkness I had never once seen in Bobby's boyish eyes.

_Author's Note…Sorry for the delay in posting all. I didn't have a computer for a while, but I'm back for good now. Updates for this and my other's will be up shortly. Feedback pretty please….it means so much and gets me motivated. This one's dedicated to the lovely scripted scarlet._


	6. Chapter 6

**_Okay Guys – 2 Updated Chapters in One Night, boy I must really love you all. I just hope it's worth it! _**

**_Did I mention that this story is dedicated to my lovely Alyssa – Scripted Scarlet? It is, cause she rocks._**

Chapter 6

If feels as if the temperature in Ross' office has gone up to around 100 degrees in the last five minutes.

Ross is pulling and fingering the knot of his tie while Bobby continues his long legged pacing and jittering. My superb surveillance techniques pick up on the tiny beads of nervous sweat trailing down Ross' neck as I can just imagine what horrifying possibilities he has created in his mind at the prospect of dealing with Bobby without me.

The scenarios I can imagine are almost enough to make me laugh out loud except I'm too pissed off to bother.

"Why would you want to do this?" Bobby says, stopping his obnoxious pacing and directing his boundless energy at me. "You've paid your dues, you are a senior detective within Major Case and there is no reason that you have to do undercover work. I thought you had enough of that in Vice."

"Bobby, you and I both know how difficult it's going to be to get this operation approved without throwing the search for an undercover," I say.

"C'mon Eames, it's not that hard, there are a lot of damn good female officers who would love to be a part of this collar."

"Be that as it may, I think it would be a huge mistake to send someone else in there," I say, standing up firm between Ross and Bobby.

"Why? We've used others in our cases in the past? What makes this different?"

"I know this case and it just seems ridiculous to waste time looking for someone else that fits the mold and then waste more time catching them up on what we need from them. You and I have our own technique and bringing someone else into the mix would just complicate matters. It just seems like providence that I got called this morning. You said yourself that you didn't mention even having a partner."

"I don't know what to say. Providence? I don't understand why you are so anxious for this. C'mon, Eames, let's call the 4-0 downtown and I'm sure we can find an eager, young female-"

"Excuse me, but are you implying that I'm too old for this?" I yell breathlessly. The remark stinging me enough to contemplate taking a pair of tweezers to Bobby's head and pluck out each gray hair one by one, by one…

"Jesus, that's not what I meant-"

"Detectives!"

Ross' loud bellow stops us both in our tracks. Now the sweating has turned evident, staining the front of his light blue dress shirt. What makes me nervous is the bulging vein pulsing in his forehead.

"I need a decision NOW and I really don't have time to listen to the two of you squabble like schoolchildren. Now what's it gonna be?" Ross says in an admirable tone, desperately trying to take control of the situation.

Stepping up I say the only thing that I can to gain ground, "Sir, I do believe I'm the senior detective in this partnership and I say that I go in as the undercover. Bobby can be my contact."

I continue to focus on Ross but the tell tale shivers crawling down my back are sure indications that Bobby is standing stock-still, his eyes focused on me, telepathically willing me to turn around.

"Wow," Ross says with eyebrows raised, "I sure wasn't expecting that."

_It's funny, because at that very moment I was thinking the very same thing. _

"I'm meeting with the Chief in an hour and I'll let you guys know what is decided," Ross says, taking a seat behind his desk.

"Now, do me a favor and please, both of you, go home and cool off. On second thought, that's not a favor, it's an order."

When I open the office door, I can see the eyes of my fellow detectives following me and Bobby back to our desks. The gossip mill will be running overtime tonight as it's a rare event when Bobby and I verbally argue in front of the squad. The fact that we are both pointedly angry at each other only intensifies the tension in the air.

I pull out my purse from my locker and close down my laptop.

"I'm going home," I say, hoping that he'll stop me.

"That's a good idea," I hear Bobby say as I pass his chair.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

**Later that evening**

I don't know what I'm doing here. Clothes soaked through from the rain outside, I somehow found myself standing in front of Bobby's door, dripping pelts of water on his beige and green welcome mat. I should have brought an umbrella, but I really couldn't be bothered to think logically when I ran out of my house in my pajamas after 2 hours of tossing and turning. The guilt I felt about pulling rank this afternoon created a swirling mass of self-revulsion in the pit of my stomach. This is not like us. Our partnership has always been about equality and the basis of that comes from our complete respect for one another.

What the hell is happening to us?

I cringe a little inside when the crack of my knuckles against his door comes out louder than I wanted at this particular time of night. Morning. Whatever obscene time I've decided to crawl out of bed and come running to Bobby.

My knuckles take a second chance at knocking, remembering that Bobby likes to watch the History Channel with the volume on way too loud. He has it so loud sometimes that his neighbor, Yolanda once told him that her seven year old son learned way too much about Hitler from just from listening through the walls.

At the sound of his deadbolt releasing, I'm greeted by a disheveled and tired Bobby. Grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a faded navy blue NYPD t-shirt.

"Hi."

"Eames?" he says, looking anxious and relieved at the same time. "Jesus, you're soaked to the bone," he says, guiding me into his apartment by the elbow. "What's wrong?"

"We are."


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Wanna give everyone who gave me reviews a big kiss. You made my day and they keep me from slacking off on my updating! Please keep 'em coming._

Chapter 7

"We are," Eames says. "We are all wrong right now."

Never let it be said that my partner isn't a straight talker. In typical Eames' no-nonsense fashion, she's managed to find a few small words to rip a gaping hole in heart.

The ache in my chest widens when the soft light of the kitchen illuminates her eyes and I only find pain and despair in her usually soothing depths. She's dripping, shivering and vibrating with a mixture of agony and something I can't quite pinpoint.

"Eames, let me get you a towel or someth-"

"Wait, Bobby," she says, grabbing my arm and halting my movement toward the linen closet. "Before you freak out on me, please know that I'm not looking, nor will I be asking for a new partner. I just need to talk to you."

"Okay," I say, guiding her to a chair at my kitchen table. "What can I do? More importantly, how can I fix this?"

She's rubbing her fingers over her eyes in a sign of exhaustion, but at the same time there's a sad smirk on her lips.

"You're laughing now?" I ask confused.

"No, Bobby," she says, "it's just I'm so used to you having such emotional insight into people that I sometimes forget that, well, that you would approach this kind of situation like a typical guy."

"I _am_ a guy," I say confused and a just a little perturbed at her assessment. "And I really don't know how to approach this, because I don't know what's going on."

"I know and that's my fault," Eames says, her eyes searching mine.

"Bobby, I'm sorry about today. I should have discussed it with you before railroading you in front of Ross."

"Eames, please, I was acting like a jackass. I've just been concerned about you and I overreacted before even listening to your reasons."

"I know," she says, pushing errant strands of wet hair out of her face. "Bobby, there has been so much going on between work, your mother and my…well, for lack of a better word, recovery, that we haven't even taken the time to talk again. To…be the friends we used to be."

"Well," I say, taking a deep breath, "that's probably where I need to apologize. I haven't exactly been the most approachable person nowadays."

"Bobby, I'm tired of apologizing and even more tired of hearing you say you are sorry, so please, just let me get this all out and then you can talk, okay?"

I nod my head, promising her my silence.

"Ever since the whole Gage disaster, I've been questioning my ability on the job-"

"Eames!"

"Bobby, you promised," she says, leaning further towards me with pleading eyes.

"Ok," I whisper, raising my hands in a sign of acquiescence.

"I did push myself after the kidnapping and I probably should have waited a little longer to come back to work. It took a lot of effort to reassure the department shrink that I was ready for active duty, so the last thing I wanted to do after realizing I was floundering was go crawling back and admitting that I wasn't alright."

"Bobby," she says in a hushed girlish voice as she takes my hand, "You and I are a great team and our partnership means the world to me. But, I can't help but wonder if I would be as effective in my job if you weren't my partner."

Eames tightens the grasp she has on my hand as her words make me shiver anxiously.

"That's what's been nagging me for these past months. I mean, without my work, what do I really have going on in my life? My family is great but if you summed up my life tomorrow you'd only have a quick summary involving a dead husband and a closet full of sensible shoes. I've come to define myself totally on my reputation and skill as a police officer."

"So, the question is, if I can't be sure of my abilities on the job, who the hell am I? That's why I was so adamant about this case and my place in it. Bobby, this is my chance to prove something to myself. To get my confidence back."

After listening for a few minutes to the sounds of her soft, ragged breathing, I feel it's safe enough to talk.

"So this is why you were so hell-bent in Ross' office."

"Yes," she says, tangling her fingers up with mine. "I need this, Bobby. But I also need you to know that I'm coming back to you after this is over."

"I know," I say quietly. "It's just…"

"Just what, Bobby?" she prods me in her own tender way.

"I can't stand the thought of something happening to you. I swear, I…I know you can handle yourself," I say, rubbing the clean soft skin of her fingertips, "but I'm not going to lie, I'm going to worry about you when we are apart."

"Just like I'll be worrying about you," she says, a soft smile appearing on her luminous face.

"Yeah."

So we sit, holding onto each other's hands while the soft moonlight spills through my kitchen windows. Eames' grip tightens every now and again and it takes everything in me to not pull her into my lap and keep her in my safe embrace for the next fifty years.

But that would be a purely selfish act. She's opened herself to me and I know that somewhere deep down inside of herself, in the place where she shelters her soft desires and thoughts, she needs me to support her in this decision, no matter how terrified I am at the prospect of being apart from her for god knows how long. Eames' has given me so much – her friendship, trust and loyalty, and I want her to know that she has that from me, too.

This is what she wants. What she needs.

"Okay, Eames," I whisper, leaning down and pressing my lips gently and quickly onto our joined hands, "I've got your back."

One of her hands burrows into my hair and soothes my scalp with tiny circular motions, and when I'm just about to sit up, I hear her soft voice.

"Thank you, Bobby."

The gentle timbre of her voice stirs my blood. So, I stay, forehead pressed against our entangled hands and gobble up every second I have with her.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A.N. – I can't thank all of you enough for the motivating reviews. Please keep them coming – this is new territory for me and I gobble up each and every delectable word you all send me.**_

Chapter 8

"Her credentials are impeccable."

"I can assure you, Mr. Winterbourne, Ms. Sullivan is the crème of the crop. You and your children deserve the very best out there, particularly after the horrible incident with Patrice," said Geraldine Mathers, owner of the Quality Nanny Service.

"Yes, the children are heartbroken. They were quite attached to Patrice," Winterbourne says, pouring and downing his second Scotch in the last 20 minutes. "Ms. Mathers?"

"Yes?"

"I trust that this woman as well as your company will not disappoint me again."

It is not a statement, nor is it a question. It's the kind of subtle threat that all born and bred blue-bloods have ruthlessly perfected in utero.

She knows that her reputation is at stake and hopes to god that whatever scheme the police have her involved in ends with a long, hopefully quiet guilty sentence for Winterbourne. Any other resolution will undoubtedly cause irreparable damage to her company and force her to supple day nurses to the five boroughs instead of educated nannies to New York's most powerful and influential families.

But she could never be one of those people who regarded their reputation more than a human life. Patrice was a good girl. Smart, beautiful and she deserved some justice.

"I promise you, Mr. Winterbourne, Alexandra Sullivan will be the most efficient, thorough and exemplary nanny that you have ever seen. One day, you are going to turn around and realize that she's changed your life. Now how is that for a guarantee?"

* * *

**Alex's House…1 week later**

"Are you are ready?" Bobby asks.

"Yeah, I'm all set," I say, watching him pace back and forth on my battered Persian rug. "Bobby, it's going to be okay."

"Sorry, Eames," he says, halting his nervous steps. "I'm just... do we need to go over your backstory again?"

"No, I think I've got it down after the last two hundred times you had me go over it," I say lightly, knowing this is his way of showing his deep concern.

"Shit," he says, coming to stand in front of me, "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

I can't help but smile at him even if he's doing the whole overprotective thing.

"Yeah, you are, but I'll forgive you this time."

The boyish grin on his lips doesn't reach his anxious eyes. I think my leaving for this undercover operation is actually going to be harder on him and my stomach clenches with guilt at the thought.

"I'm sorry if this is causing you more stress, Bobby. It's the last thing I want for you right now. Promise me if anything happens with your mom that you will somehow send word. I don't want you to be alone for this and I'm sorry-"

"Stop," he says, holding his hands up, "we promised we wouldn't apologize anymore about this. I'll keep you posted on any new development with my mom, so don't worry about me. You said this is what you want and need and as you've told me in the past, not everything is about Robert Goren. If this is what you feel is necessary," he whispers, his hand finding mine, "then I'm here to support you, just like you are always there for me."

I try to stifle the feelings begging to erupt from my chest. This man, this deeply complicated, brilliant, wonderful man never ceases to surprise or astound me.

"Thank you, Bobby," I say quietly, dipping me head down so he won't see my eyes well up.

"And just for the record, Eames," he says, tightening his grasp on my hand, "I think you are by far, one of the most dedicated and resourceful police officers that the NYPD has ever had. I just hope you realize that really soon and come back."

There is no hiding the lone tear trailing down my cheek, because my eyes are demanding to see his. Any fears or reservations I have about myself seem so far away when I'm in Bobby's presence. He makes me feel golden and safe.

"I have to come back soon, Goren," I say smiling, "otherwise Ross will have a nervous breakdown dealing with you alone."

The sound of Bobby's laugh at my wisecrack successfully breaks us out of our somber moment.

"Well, I guess I better go wait for the van outside," I say, bending down and lifting one of my bags onto my shoulder. "I can't keep Ritchie Rich waiting."

When I'm about to turn the doorknob, I feel Bobby's hand on my shoulder.

"Eames, if you feel that something is going wrong while inside, or you feel that your cover is in jeopardy, promise me that you'll call me and I'll get you right the hell out of there. Investigation be damned, alright?"

"Promise, Bobby," I say, pressing my hand against his stubbled cheek. "Every girl should have a best friend like you."

"Well, you should know by now that you're my favorite person, Eames," he says, pulling me into a friendly hug.

And in what should have been a hurried gesture suddenly turns into something devastatingly slow. My hands lingering far too long at the nape of his neck, his arms squeezing a bit too hard around me.

At the feel of his breath on my neck, I know I have to pull back and get out of this house before I say or do something that might cause more confusion between us.

Pulling back, I'm surprised to feel Bobby's long, strong fingers at the back of my head, placing us practically nose to nose with him. The mere closeness of him makes the blood race like a hurricane in my veins. The intoxicating sensation of Bobby's chest against mine has me petrified that all of the desires and thoughts that I've buried deep down inside of me will spill out, revealing themselves.

I want to greedily inhale the hot erratic breaths he exhales, but I just let them linger on my dry lips and on the tip of my tongue. I can't be sure, but it seems that he is ever so slowly trying to move closer, and when his lips are almost meeting mine, my mind shuts down and my eyes begin to shutter closed.

But instead of the press of Bobby's lips, I am startled by the jarring sound of the van's horn outside.

Feeling the deep crimson on my cheeks, I turn and pick up my other suitcase, avoiding Bobby's eyes at all costs. I fear what I may see in them, whether it be regret or by some miracle – passion. _For me._

I don't know what to do with either of those emotions right now. At least not in the most healthy way with someone as special as my partner.

"Take care of yourself, Bobby."

And without a second glance, I escape his presence and rush to the waiting van that will bring me to the posh neighborhood where I'll be residing an indeterminate amount of time.

Once seated and buckled up, I look up and see Bobby standing by my front window, curtains pushed away, watching me. I give him a smile and wave, pretending that I don't want to jump out of the van and run back into his embrace.


	9. Chapter 9

**Winterbourne Household - 2 weeks later**

"Can we play princess?" An elfin cherub named Maya asked as she spun around in circles around the playroom.

"Not gonna play princess, that's for girls!"

This remark came from Maya's gangly, blond haired brother James, who was currently occupied with his Matchbox cars.

"Is not!" Maya protested vehemently.

"Alright, guys, stop fighting," the nanny said from her seat on the playroom floor. "Maya, you and I will play princess when you get up from your nap later, and James, I do believe you have some cleaning up to do in your room."

"But Rosalita always cleans up, I don't have to," James whined.

"Rosalita might be the maid, but you need to learn how to pick up after yourself. You're a smart, strong little man and you should start behaving like it."

She watches as James huffs and walks out of the room on his little legs. Maya giggles and plops herself down onto her nanny's lap.

"James is mad cause you make him clean his room," the little girl says, already observant and articulate at the tender age of four.

"I know he is, but we all have to learn that in life, we all have responsibilities and right now, his is to pick up after himself," she says, tucking the little girl into her. "And you, my little princess, it's your responsibility to take a nice afternoon nap."

"But I'm not tired," Maya says, her little cupid mouth opening in a yawn.

Once she convinced Maya that she was indeed tired, it wasn't a big surprise when the little girl fell asleep moments after being tucked into her frilly pink bed. Down the hall, she could hear the sounds of James' footsteps as he indeed began cleaning his room.

Any family would be lucky to have such a nanny for their children. She's soft, smart, caring, tough when she needs to be. The only catch…

She's an undercover NYPD detective.

And she's be winging it for the past two weeks. It's similar to babysitting her nieces and nephews; the only difference is that these two never go home. This is home and it seems to her that James and Maya held the titles of King and Queen in the household before she came along. Spoiled and demanding, it has been challenging to gain their respect as well as take control of them like a proper nanny should. And she's _this_ close to success with the kids. She's getting even closer to some hard truths about their father, Douglas Winterbourne which will enable her to find out who killed Patrice and Gregory.

And it's been stimulating and invigorating for Detective Alexandra Eames.

Strike that – Alexandra Sullivan, Nanny extraordinaire.

**Alex's POV**

The first morning I woke up here, I almost had a panic attack. I've been unusually sensitive to my surroundings since last summer.

My mind raced to find peace as I studied the Spartan bedroom in which I was placed. An oak desk sat against the wall on the opposite side of the room. To the left was a tiny, black and white tiled bathroom which contained only a stand up shower and simple vanity.

Once acclimated to my surroundings, my breathing came much easier and slower. Every detail of the operation and my role in it came rushing back like a tidal wave. I remember jumping out of bed and rushing my morning routine so I could get started and solve the mystery of Patrice's and Gregory's deaths. The house maid, Rosalita met me at the bottom of the stairs with a quiet and professional 'Good Morning', as well as a piping hot cup of coffee.

"You are going to need the caffeine with these two," she said with a teasing smile.

And boy was she not kidding. Maya and Joseph were your typical children filled with boundless energy and vast imaginations. Both were beautiful with their fair hair and blue-green eyes. As affectionate and playful as Maya was, Joseph was equally aloof and often times, flat out bratty.

In the last two weeks I've come to understand clearly that Maya clings to me, sometimes desperately, in the hope that I will not be taken away from her like her mother and Patrice. While James tries harder each and every day to push me away in an attempt to protect his vulnerable little heart.

They miss their mother.

And it's heartbreaking for me to see them each day, looking to me, practically a stranger, for love and acceptance. Which brings me to my next emotion…

Royally pissed off at Douglas Winterbourne.

The whole point of this assignment was to get close and become a trusted employee within the household, but that's a bit hard to do when I've only met the man once in the past fourteen days. It was three days after I arrived, when I sat down with the children for dinner when Winterbourne decided to grace us with his presence.

"Well, I see you are all getting along," he said with a smile, filling the doorway of the dining room with his broad shoulders and aristocratic grace.

It took me a minute to realize what he was smiling about. What a picture we must have made with Maya wearing most of her macaroni and cheese and James racing his pieces of chicken around the dining room table. I straightened my shoulders and unintentionally revealed the explosion of vegetable stains decorating my white t-shirt.

"Mr. Winterbourne, I apologize for the mess. We were-" I said, trying to wipe Maya's hands clean.

"It's alright Ms. Sullivan, at least they seem to be getting half of their food into their mouths," he teased, picking Maya up and settling her down onto his lap.

My initial impression of his parenting skills fell by the wayside as I watched him talk and play with his children for the next hour. James even perked up and became more animated and friendly while in his father's company. They all seemed to adore each other.

Everything seemed to make my stomach turn. If Winterbourne was guilty of planning or carrying out these murders, these children would once again be left, orphaned by their only living parent. I'm well aware of the damage that is done to a family when a member dies or is imprisoned. I'm also aware that I, as a police officer am often the target of misdirected anger when someone is taken from their family. In the past, it's always been somewhat easy to let it slide off my back, but to be in the very presence of these children and the probable outcome looming, I felt strangely ashamed.

In my fervor to take on this assignment, I only thought of the children as a means to gain access to the household. I was too wrapped up in my own problems that I forgot that they would become attached to me only to learn in the end that I too had deceived them.

At the close of each day, I would crawl into my soft twin bed and hope that the next day would bring me closer to the information I need to complete this operation. The most I've been able to procure are tiny snippets of gossip and innuendo from the household staff about Winterbourne's work associates.

But most of all when my eyes close and my body sinks into the mattress, I see Bobby's face and a deep ache inside blossoms and threatens tears.

I miss him.

It's bad enough to be away from my family, from the people and possessions that make me most comfortable in this world, but to be apart from Bobby…it's as if an extension of myself is missing.

During an old case, Bobby once explained about phantom pain, where an amputee or a paralyzed individual still experienced tingling, itching and other sensations where the missing or lifeless limb once was. He's my phantom pain now. It's as if I can feel him underneath my fingertips and smell his aftershave, but when I look for him at my side, I realize it's all an apparition.

Seeing him only intensified the malaise.

A few days after my assignment began, I brought the children to the nearby park where James loves the monkey bars and Maya has friends to play in the sandbox with. Seated on a bench close to where the children played, I surveyed the area as it is in my nature. Besides the children and other nannies in the park, the only other person within close proximity was a park employee, currently fixing a leaky water faucet.

My breath caught in my chest when the man turned his head and his soulful brown eyes found mine.

Bobby always promised to watch my back and in his usual determined manner, he wasn't going to let something like an undercover operation stand in his way. I knew that it's part of his job to check up on me, to ensure that I am safe and out of harm's way, but the fierce emotion in his eyes at that very moment told me that it was so much more.

I wanted the simple pleasure of talking to him, to stand close to him and hear his pleasantly deep voice. The realization of our limitations at this moment came as a searing pain in my bosom.

When he saw that I was alright, he packed up his toolbox and disappeared into the busy Manhattan crowds.

My favorite time of day is when I can close my eyes and see his face.

_**Author's Note: Not a whole lot of action in this one, but I wanted to set-up for the next few chapters. Let me know how you like this….kisses!**_

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	10. Chapter 10

**_Big Thanks to Alyssa (Scripted Scarlet) for the amazingly quick beta job. She's as fabulous as her writing. Thanks for keeping me motivated, babe._**

"One more story, please," Maya sleepily pleads.

"We don't want to wake up James," I whisper back, watching James' little chest rise and fall in slumber.

"Please?" Maya says, holding up a well-loved, straggly looking teddy bear. "Me and Teddy will be quiet. We promise."

"Alright, one more. Winken, Blinken and Nod…

Sure enough, long before the last verse of the story, Maya is fast asleep, snuggled up next to James. I learned early on that their mother used to let them sleep in the same bed on rainy, thunderous night. But since her death, they were prohibited from this reassuring and innocent act. They are wonderful children, and thank god James is finally comfortable with me. Douglas Winterbourne noticed and remarked on it just a few days ago.

"_The kids just love you. The house is filled with laughter again."_

My first reaction was pride, no doubt from the stirring maternal feelings that had suddenly reappeared. The next reaction was exhilaration because I knew that I had finally got Winterbourne where I wanted him emotionally. I was no longer a stranger and could move about the household without fear of suspicion.

So that night, when the house staff retired to their rooms and Winterbourne out to dinner with his newest conquest, I felt confident that I could find some possible leads in his home office.

Slipping my shoes off, I quietly descended the main stairs and wound my way through the hallways until I came to Winterbourne's office door. Upon entering, my nostrils filled with the aroma of high quality cigars with a hint of Scotch. Closing the door behind me, I hurried over to his large oak desk and noticed the lack of clutter – there were no quickly jotted notes on the blotter, no post-its with numbers or names. Moving to the drawers, I found them locked and I knew that it wasn't to protect the kids from stealing his Bic pens.

Retrieving the lock pick from my pants pocket, I bent down and slowly wiggled the pick until I heard the glorious _click_ sound signifying my success. Alphabetized files with titles such as, 'Leases', 'Litigation', and 'Licensing'. Looking through the files, I found nothing which seemed illegal or inappropriate. Pulling the drawer out and off the tracks, I reached my hand in and blindly searched for any hidden items.

My fingertips came in contact with a small object that seemed taped to the inner wall. Pulling it out gently, I find my eyes on a small black memo pad. Heart racing and ears alert to any approaching noise, I pull a thin, silver pen out from the confines of my cotton bra. To the human eye, it looks like a simple writing instrument, but thanks to modern technology, the pen actually doubles as a small hidden camera. Snapping each page with as much accuracy and speed as I can, I feel every bit like Mata Hari.

When I've gotten all pages captured, I tape the memo pad back in its original position and as I slide my hand out, my skin encounters the cold metallic steel of what can only be a revolver. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as I quickly reassemble the drawer back into its place.

Only when I got back to my own room could I begin to breathe normally. I set my alarm an hour early so I can get an early start tomorrow morning. Picking up the cell phone given to me by headquarters, I hit the programmed number titled, 'Home', which in actuality is a pre-paid cell phone specifically for Bobby and I to use in our communications.

"Sullivan residence."

"Hi, it's Alex.**"**

I almost missed the hitch in Bobby's voice when he answered.

"Everything okay? How's your new job?" he asks, his voice casual and calm.

"Great. It's been a good day. Just checking in to see how everyone back home is. I'm putting something in the mail tomorrow for you."

"Looking forward to getting it."

"Well, I'm heading off to bed now. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Alexandra. Sweet dreams."

Neither of us can seem to disconnect, so I lay down on my bed and for the next few minutes, we both just listen to each other breathing, savoring even the most minuscule connection.

**Next Morning**

After dropping of James at school, I hurried Maya onto the subway telling her we were having an adventure today and going to breakfast and then to Central Park Zoo.

"Can I get waffles, Alex?"

"Of course. As a matter of fact, I'll take you to a special place that has the best waffles ever," I say, holding onto her hand and walking towards Jet's Diner. I wasn't really lying to Maya, because Jet's really did have phenomenal breakfast food, but I certainly couldn't tell her this was the place Bobby and I predetermined as a meeting/drop off location.

Entering the noisy diner, I found us a cozy table located in the corner, away from the windows. I glanced around and surveyed the faces behind newspapers, customers at the counter and I couldn't find Bobby anywhere in sight. Hoping that he remembered our meeting signals, such as my reference to 'dropping something in the mail' on the phone last night as a signal to meet me at the diner the next morning.

"I want chocolate chips with my waffles," Maya announced across the table from me.

"No, I don't think so. How about some yummy blueberries?"

"Well…okay, but can Teddy eat with me?" she replies, knowing the chocolate chip battle is a losing one for her.

"What can I get ya beautiful ladies, this morning?" I hear the waiter say with a heavy Brooklyn accent while I rummage through my bag for Maya's teddy bear.

"She'll have the-"

And a giggle escapes me as I find my usually Armani-clad partner standing in front of us in an all-white ensemble, complete with greasy apron. His hair rumpled and five o'clock shadow completing the disguise.

"I know I tend to make the chicks speechless, but that's even fast for me, ya know what I'm saying?" he says, flashing his charming smile at me and Maya.

"I want blueberry waffles!" Maya says, smiling up at him, already enamored.

"Excellent choice, kid. That's my favorite too," Bobby says, smiling right back at Maya. "But what does your Mommy want?"

"She's not my mommy silly, she's my nanny!"

"Oh, a nanny! Back in the neighborhood we called them babysitters," he says.

"I'll have an egg white omelet with cheese and wheat toast," I say.

"Right, the dieter's breakfast of choice," he says, writing down the order on his pad. "And what about your friend over there?" Bobby asks Maya, pointing a finger at Teddy.

"He's going to have some of my waffles," she replies.

"I never met a bear that ate waffles," he says mischievously. "I would like to shake Teddy's hand cause he's got to be one special bear."

Maya brings Teddy close and laughs as Bobby playfully shakes the bear's paw and asks him how the family, the three bears are doing.

"You are silly, I'm Maya," Maya giggles, extending her tiny hand towards Bobby.

"It's a pleasure, Miss Maya," he says, gently taking her little hand in his and pumping it playfully.

"Now you Alex!"

"Yes, now you Nanny Alex," Bobby teases and he already knows that I've picked up on his plan.

"I don't shake the hands of nameless men," I say, playing hard to get.

"Me? I'm Vinnie, your friendly neighborhood server," he says, taking my hand in his.

To anyone else watching, it would seem that Vinnie the waiter is making a pass at me, but I'm skillfully and discreetly slipping the pen's memory card into the palm of his hand.

"Well, let me get you your food," he says, breaking our contact and walking back towards the kitchen.

I smile thinking of Bobby's creativity. He knew this was a safer way to talk with me, not to mention an opportunity to play a little game together. What had me further amused was Bobby serving other customers to keep his cover. He slipped orange juice on a construction worker and broke 2 plates while trying to clean up a table.

His eyes found mine while he swept up the mess and quirked a smile at me.

He got my message. _Don't quit your day job._

**Ross' office, 1PP**

"Damn, she's good," Ross said while perusing the information Eames obtained.

"I've got Shapiro and Sloane running all of the names through the system and so far we've gotten pops on 4 of them," I say.

"Any violent offenders?"

"No. Right now there ranging from fraud to drug possession raps," I say dismissively while pacing the Captain's office.

"Well, let's see what else we can come up with and how we can connect some of these stellar citizens to Winterbourne," Ross replies.

"I want to get her out of there."

"Detective, you did say she looked fine. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No. She's doing a great job. I just…the more I find out about Winterbourne and the characters he associates with…I just don't want her in any more danger than she's already in."

"Everything is going as per our plan. Relax, she's going to be just fine," Ross says, indicating that this is the end of our conversation by picking up some paperwork.

_Is there something you're not telling me, he asks_. Yeah, I hate that she's away and that I can't see her everyday and that bastard Winterbourne is nothing but trouble.

Being away from her and not being able to simply speak to her about everyday issues has been so painful. That damn saying, 'You don't know what you've got til it's gone' finally makes sense. I've become a cliché. A man figuring out his love for a woman once she's no longer around. Christ, I feel like a first-class schmuck.

So, yeah, I want her home for purely selfish reasons. Because I need her humor and subtle gestures of caring after being bombarded with the impending demise of my own mother and her frequent outbursts.

So I can finally get my shit together and create a life for myself outside of work and caretaking. I'm so tired. Every other day at Carmel Ridge worrying about mom and then every night lying awake worrying and missing Eames.

I want more and for the first time in my life, I'm not going to deny myself. It's futile to wish and pray anymore for my mother to recuperate. She and I both know that it's only a short matter of time before the inevitable happens. So, I'm going to wish for her to peacefully leave this plane of existence and find the peace she's never had in life. I'm going to start wishing and praying that I'll be able to go to sleep at night with Eames lying next to me.

_Who would have ever thought I'd finally give myself a chance for happiness?_

"Goren!"

"Yeah?" I say, breaking away from my daydreaming.

"I think you should come and see this," Sloane yells across the bullpen.

"What did you find?" I ask, leaning over and scanning his computer screen.

"One of the names from the file, Lucien Mileski. His name had a little asterisk next to it, so I thought I'd check him out before the others. He doesn't have any pops in the U.S., but when I ran him through NCB and check this out, he's been arrested in the Netherlands for drug possession with intent. And then 2 years ago, he was arrested in Thailand for pimping out underage girls. The Dutch released him on a technicality, but he jumped and fled Thailand. Their still looking for him."

"Oh, I'm really liking this guy," I say, adrenaline pumping through my veins. "Dig a little deeper. I'm going to make a few phone calls and see what I can come up with."

"What's a millionaire like Winterbourne doing with sleaze like this?" Sloane asks.

"He might be rich by financial standards. But morally, he's bankrupt and I get the feeling that his whole business is a front for something highly illegal."

"Dangerous enough to kill his nanny and throw suspicion on himself?"

"He's too arrogant to think we'd figure him out. What he doesn't know is that Eames can see through his act and she's going to take him and his friends down, like a house of cards."

A.N. – Oh, more revelations and maybe, if you guys want, more B/A interaction coming. Reviews are good for the soul.


	11. Chapter 11

_A.N. – Okay, Wow, I didn't realize how long it's been since I've updated my baby. What can I say – I've actually had a busy social life lately. Please forgive me. I've made this chapter extra long just to make amends. Thanks to everyone for the magnificently wonderful feedback and reviews. Keep them coming as I'm reaching the hard part of the story._

_Big Kisses and Curtsies to Scripted Startlet – who jolts me out of my complacency. Go read anything she's written – it's one of the best times you'll ever have!_

_**1 Police Plaza**_

"How was your visit to the Hillington estate?" Ross asks, approaching Goren's desk.

"Enlightening," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "This time I talked to Hillington himself and he was very surprised to learn that we had ever talked to his maid about the "Svetlana" phone call."

"Why is that enlightening?"

"That in itself isn't, but the fact that Hillington casually mentioned it to Douglas Winterbourne is. That's how he found out that Patrice knew that Svetlana wasn't really a nanny in their household. My bet, Winterbourne had her followed and when she visited Greg Vilente at Hudson, well, he knew that she would eventually find out where her sister really was."

"Where was she?"

"Um, I still don't know that, but I'm looking into his factories here in the city that have been cited for labor violations. Eames' had the idea that she might be working in one of his facilities, or more likely, one of his sweatshops."

"If Winterbourne is trafficking in illegals and setting them up in his factories, we are going to have to bring the Feds into this," Ross said.

"I know, but Eames needs more time inside to retrieve more evidence on Winterbourne and his involvement with Patrice & Greg's murders," I say, wishing I could say the hell with it and go and pick up Eames' right this afternoon.

"Alright, but if you or Eames can't give me solid evidence soon, I'll have to call in the feds."

* * *

Alex POV 

The last two weeks have been disappointingly uneventful. My three late night trips into Winterbourne's office have been fruitless, which not only prolongs my stint here, but gives me no excuse to contact Bobby.

Unfortunately, the only new development seems to be Douglas Winterbourne's sudden need to spend as much time with me and the children. He's taken to joining us for our nightly dinners, much to the children's delight and my apprehension.

Tonight, Winterbourne decided to tuck Maya and James into bed himself, but not before asking me to wait for him so we could have coffee together. So, here I sit, stuffed from the roast beef and mashed potatoes, sipping a cup of coffee in front of the fire in the family room with him. I take the opportunity to ingratiate myself by complimenting his skills as a father. And just as Bobby indicated, Winterbourne is a Type A narcissist who loves nothing more than to hear how magnificent he is. My only frustration comes when he deftly deflects my subtle questions about his work.

To my dismay, along with his increased presence in my daily life, he has also taken every opportunity to have as much personal contact as possible. Whether it is a quick touch of his hand on my shoulder or lower back, I can feel his growing interest and wonder what exactly he has in mind.

After an hour of conversation, I plead exhaustion and say goodnight, but not before bending down to retrieve my empty coffee cup.

'Leave it, Alexandra. Rosalita will take care of it," Winterbourne says, taking the cup from my hands and sliding his fingers through mine.

It takes an extraordinary effort to not retch at his closeness and the stroking of his thumb on my knuckles, "You never speak of anyone special in your life, Alexandra. Is there?"

"Special?"

"I hope you don't think me forward, but a woman of substance and beauty, such as yourself…well, I find it hard to believe that there isn't a man waiting for you somewhere. Perhaps even nursing a broken heart?"

He takes the opportunity to invade my personal space a bit more, so much so that I can smell the stale aftershave he applied that morning.

I look up through my lashes, trying to summon a look for sympathy, "Perhaps I'm the one nursing a broken heart?"

"It can't be too broken. You've allowed the children to sneak into your heart. I can tell you care for them.

"Maya and James are wonderful and very easy to love."

"But it's harder for you to open yourself up to a man isn't it?" he says, placing his other hand on my cheek. "But the right kind of man, a man who would see how sweet you are, he can help mend that heart of yours."

"Perhaps. But, Mr. Winterbourne-"

"Douglas."

"Douglas, I am in your employ and this," putting my hand over his, "I'm sorry, but don't you think this is inappropriate?"

"I've offended you?"

"No! I just, I've seen too many of my colleagues get into situations with their employers that have badly damaged their reputation and I just wouldn't-"

"I understand and that's why I like you, Alexandra. You're sharp and honest and I would be hard pressed to name another person in this world that I have met that is as genuine as you are."

I lower my head, allowing my hair to shield my face from his view. It's a deceitful move on my part, trying to come off as flattered by his words instead of the deep revulsion snaking down my spine.

"Goodnight, Alexandra," he says, bringing my hand up to his lips and peppering languid kisses onto the skin of my fingers.

My charade has worked perfectly and as a professional, I should feel the ultimate in satisfaction, I think as I make my way up to my bedroom, walking directly into my private bathroom. But any self-congratulatory praises seem a million miles away, overwhelmed by the burgeoning trepidation pounding in my chest.

I concentrate on the cool soap and water on my hands as I stare at myself in the mirror. Being Alexandra Sullivan makes me yearn to get back to the life of Alexandra Eames.

I don't realize until I lay down that I've managed to wash my hands raw.

**1 week later**

"You packed Teddy right, Alex?" Maya asks, looking like a pixie in her pink and blue sweater.

"Teddy's sleeping in your backpack," I say, giving her and James a quick hug before dropping them off for their swimming lessons.

"I'll see you guys in an hour when your class is over. I'll be waiting right here, okay?"

"Okay, Alex!" The twins reply in unison, racing each other to their teacher.

I navigate my way down Madison Avenue quickly and open the wooden door to the Corner Art & Bookstore where I need to purchase some new books and art supplies for the kids. The smell of glue and paint transports me back to kindergarten, making me want to buy some new crayons and coloring books. Life was so much easier back then. Your happiness could depend upon a single word from your parents or a game of hide and seek with your friends. Actually, now that I think about it, there isn't much in this world that I need to be happy. I have my work, my family and friends and…

_My Bobby._

Well, he's not really mine, but maybe once this is over I can stop being such a coward and jump him. Ok, maybe not jump. With Bobby I'll probably have to dip my toes in one by one before leaping. But oh, the day I can swim in those waters will no doubt be paradise.

Sliding my hands along the bindings of the books lining the back wall of the small store, I'm curious what books Bobby loved as a child.

"I highly recommend Goodnight Moon," a voice startles me from behind.

"Bobby!"

"Shhh," he whispers, holding his index finger up against his lips.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, looking over his shoulder, hoping no one sees us together.

"I wanted to see you."

"We shouldn't-"

"I know, but I also want to give you an update on the case and thought doing in person would be best."

I laugh at the sneaky grin on his face and relax, just wanting to enjoy his mere presence.

"What's up?"

Bobby is now looking towards the front of the store and then gently pulls me towards the back door of the store, waving his badge out to the owner while exiting into their alleyway.

My palm tingles from the heat of his hand curling around mine. It's been so long since we've had any kind of physical contact and the simplest touch of his skin against mine sets my cheeks aflame.

With uncharacteristic abruptness, Bobby hurriedly walks us to the darkest corner of the alley, which thankfully doesn't have a dumpster, just scattered empty crates and boxes.

"Bobby, what's the urgency?" I ask, while he positions me back against the brick wall.

"No, no urgency, it's just…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drag you like that," he says, while his eyes move over every inch of my face.

"I guess this means that you really miss me, huh?" I say, giving him a cheeky grin.

"More than you can possibly fathom," he says, his eyes shining in sincerity.

And just like that, within two minutes of being in Bobby's presence, I know with absolute certainty that I could never live happily without him. This time apart has cemented my feelings for him in a way that I couldn't even imagine.

The blossoming tenderness in my breast makes my breath hitch, which I'm certain Bobby notices as his dark penetrating eyes remain fascinated with the hollow of my neck where I can feel the pounding of my pulse beating frantically against my skin.

His mere proximity heightens all of my senses, making the very air translucent, the sky more vivid and his scent dangerously attractive.

I shudder with excitement and fear at just how much power he has over me by just being near, and by just being the man he is.

"You alright?" Bobby asks, "you're trembling."

Tearing my eyes away from his lips, "I'm fine," I say none to convincingly, "what updates do you have for me?"

Bobby's towering presence takes a step back, and I can tell that I've confused him with my abrupt change of attitude.

"We…well, the phone book you were able to get for us is filled with one ex-con after another, conveniently with a set of symbols indicating their usefulness and particular talent."

"Thank god," I say, exhaling the breath I was holding in anticipation of hearing that there were no decent leads to be found with the evidence I procured.

"Anyone in particular stand out?" I ask.

"Quite a few, but one specifically," Bobby says, his eyes brightening in that familiar way they do when he gets excited about a potential lead.

"Well, c'mon, don't hold out on me, Goren," I tease, playfully pushing at his shoulder.

"A guy by the name of Lucien Mileski," he says, "he's got a mile long rap sheet both in the U.S. as well as the Netherlands and Thailand."

"I bet he's got a ton of frequent flyer miles."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Bobby says, too enraptured with the facts to catch my feeble attempt at humor.

"He's still wanted in Thailand as well as a few countries in Europe for questioning in multiple racketeering and assault cases," Bobby continues. "There's been no activity on his passport, but I tracked him down off of his last known address."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No, but I have him being tailed night and day and so far, he's living up to his record."

"Bad?"

Bobby nods his head, "We've seen him communicating with some members of the Masucci family and let's just say, his entourage, their not exactly the boy scouts."

"But that doesn't help with solving the homicides," I say, feeling frustrated.

"I just need to catch him doing the wrong thing, Eames," he says, placing his hands on my shoulders, "and when he does and I get him in an interrogation room, he'll be done for. Just keep doing what you're doing and we'll get there, I promise."

"So, speaking of doing what you're doing - how's it being a nanny?" he asks, trying to bring some levity to our suddenly too-serious conversation.

"Exhausting," I say, "I thought chasing after you was hard work, but these kids have more energy then they know what to do with."

Bobby gives me one of his small smiles. "And Winterbourne? How's that going?"

_Shit._ As much as I wanted to talk to Bobby, this was not a subject I am eager to discuss, but we always promised to tell each other the truth, no matter what.

"Well, he certainly trusts me now, and that helps when I need to do some sneaking around."

"What makes you so certain that he genuinely trusts you?" Bobby asks, and I can tell by the look in his eyes and his tense posture that his brain is working overtime.

"Well…I think, he might have a little...I don't know, a crush on me."

I expected his anger. I definitely expected his anxiety along with his usual pacing and colorful diatribes. So color me surprised when Robert Goren, a man who is never without words, turns stone silent on me. I would've been concerned about his hearing if I hadn't started to see the ugly crimson flooding down his face, down until it escaped into the collar of his shirt.

"Has he been harassing you?" He asks, in a low concerned voice.

"I wouldn't call it harassing…he's just dropped hints that he's interested in pursuing a different kind of relationship with me."

"That's it!" Bobby says, a bit too loud considering our meeting should be as secretive as possible. "You need to get out of there, it's getting to dangerous."

"Bobby, I'm not in any danger, if anything it helps me gain his trust even more."

"What are you saying? You can't possibly be considering using his feelings to get more information?"

"Bobby, after years of dating liars, I know how to handle someone like Winterbourne," I say, "if I shut him down altogether he could make things very difficult for me in the house. Listen, I worked in Vice long enough to learn just how far you need to take things to get the evidence you need. I promise, I can handle this."

"Has he…, I mean…has he touched you?" Bobby asks, while rubbing the nape of his neck.

"Nothing too explicit, just some subtle hand touching…I think he believes he can seduce me through the children by manipulating my feelings for them."

"Goddamnit," Bobby says in a furious tone, "this is not what I was planning on when you went undercover. I thought having someone inside would be-"

"Bullshit, Bobby," I say, my voice surprisingly calm. "I might not always know exactly what you are thinking, but you knew putting an undercover in Winterbourne's house would include mild flirtation on the policewoman's part. You just never imagined that it would be me inside instead of some twenty-something rookie."

"Listen, I just want to make sure that your cover is still intact and that you are going to come out of this safe. I couldn't-"

"Bobby," I say, gently grabbing his hand in mine to stop his pacing, "don't get mad, but you're doing the overprotective thing again. Does this have anything to do with your mom? We haven't had the chance to discuss anything else but the case and I was just wondering-"

"She's fine…I mean, not really, but as well as can be expected. She's going to be transferred back to Carmel Ridge soon where she can be comfortable and around her things when she…"

"I'm sorry, Bobby," I say, the words clogging my throat while I wrap my arms around his waist. "I feel so selfish leaving you at a time like this."

"No, don't apologize," he says, pushing me back so that we are face to face. "You needed this and the world can't stop turning because of my family problems."

"I know, but…no matter good you think you are at handling things on your own…I always like to think that you know I'm just a phone call away. Unfortunately, it's more complicated now and I can't just come running if you need me."

"Just knowing that you feel that way makes everything alright, Eames," Bobby says, placing his warm, large hand on my cheek. "So, don't worry about me and just concentrate on the task at hand. The sooner we get these guys, the faster I get you back."

My eyelids shutter closed in absolute contentment from not only the wonderful words falling from Bobby's lips, but from the searing heat of his palm against my cheek. I nuzzle my face into his strong, slightly calloused hand, forgetting everything around us, surrendering to the pull of my emotions for him.

"I've miss you, Bobby," I whisper slowly into his hand, enjoying the feel of my lips sliding over his rough and salty skin.

My senses are quickly pulled away from the heat of his hand's touch, replaced by the sensation of Bobby's lush talented lips pressing against my neck, just to the left of my earlobe. My body becomes infused with a blistering soul-flaming heat as the coolness of his mouth is intensified by the slick slide of his tongue, now traveling across my collarbone.

My eyes open and widen, finding Bobby crouched in front of me, intensifying his languid assault upon my skin. I tunnel my fingers into the thick set of curls in front of me, as if trying to convince myself that this is all real, and not one of the many nightly dreams I've come to dread and anticipate over the past few years.

"_Oh_, Bobby," I say, not recognizing the passionate, almost gratuitous moans escaping my mouth.

And then he speaks into the hollow of my throat, whispering endearments and promises and everything I've ever dreamed of in between worshipful kisses and scintillating tongue curls. Bobby's words are like warm luxurious honey, silken and full-bodied, stunning me and lulling me further into his embrace.

"Oh, I missed you," he says, leaving the shelter of my neck and returning to his full height.

"Eames," he says, placing his hands through my hair and tipping my face up towards his, "I know this probably rates as one of the worst-timed confessions ever, but…I've never missed anyone like I've missed you. It's…I've never needed anyone, I've always had to depend on myself and I've been okay with that. But I'm not satisfied with just being okay anymore…not when I can see the glimmer of the possibility of being more…with you."

His beautiful face is blurred as the pools of unshed tears flood my eyes. Never would I imagine such a passionate declaration from Bobby, much less the fact of opening himself, his deep held feelings to me. It's as if a small miracle has been granted to me and at the most inconvenient time, I've found myself utterly speechless.

Happily and shockingly without the words to express my affection and gratitude for being given this moment.

"I feel…god, I can't even find the words, Bobby…I-"

"Wow," he smiles sweetly, "if I knew kissing you would make you so amiable, I would have done it years ago."

Stunned, my head whips up at his teasing. "Hey, when have I-"

The smart-ass remark is quickly forgotten by the force of Bobby's kiss. The hunger of his lips on mine and the cleverness of his hands, swirling circular patterns on the exposed skin of my back, urges me on as I slip my tongue into mouth.

Under my hands I can feel the thunderous groan escaping the confines of Bobby's chest. My hands move to explore the vast expense of his back, enjoying the sinew of muscle underneath his shirt. The sweet slide of our lips and tongues and the bite of his fingers at my waist conjure up images of the two of us, my legs tightly wrapped around his waist while he pushes into me. I feel the deep throb between my legs as I imagine pushing down onto his hardness, matching his thrusts as I slide up and down on him.

Just as my hands are about to wander to Bobby's belt buckle, I hear the tell-tale ring of my cell phone. Startled at the sound, our lips break apart and my eyes open to the image of Bobby – face flush, chest heaving and lips slightly tinged with my pink lip gloss.

Grabbing my phone from my coat pocket, the caller identification shows that it is James. With a quick flip of the phone, I quickly listen to James letting me know that their swim class has ended a bit early.

"Ok, sweetie, I'll be there in a few minutes. Watch out for your sister until I get there, alright kiddo?"

As I end the call, I look back into Bobby's eyes and see emotions somewhere in between relief and exhilaration.

_Poor Bobby, loving me has really complicated your life, hasn't it?_

"I have to go and pick up the kids," I say, not knowing how I'm going to be able to walk away from him at this most precious moment.

"I know. We've probably spent too much time together as it is. I don't want to put you in any kind of jeopardy."

"Oh, I think it was time well spent, don't you?"

The brightness of his eyes tells me all I need to know.

I give him a smile and begin to turn back to the alley opening when words never once uttered from Bobby's mouth reach my ears.

"What? No kiss goodbye?"

Turning back, I watch his legs move in long, graceful strides towards me. Once he reaches his destination, he leans down finding my eyes.

"When this is over and you are back where you belong, we are going to talk about the future," he says, giving me one more overwhelmingly powerful kiss.

As I reluctantly pull away, I close my eyes and hide my face in the lapels of his suit jacket.

"Bobby?" My grip tightening on his jacket, wrinkling the fine, expensive material.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

And not a second after the words leave my mouth do I quickly turn and run out towards the sunlight and the busy street, never once looking back.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A.N. – A huge thank you to those who have stuck with me on this story. Your reviews and encouraging words mean the world. **__**Also – big hugs to Scripted Starlet for the quick and excellent beta job.**_

**One Police Plaza, 11****th**** Floor**

It was while pouring his seventh cup of coffee that Bobby finally snapped.

"What are you looking at Perez?" he says in a strangely calm but menacing voice.

"You look like shit, Goren."

"Yeah, well, that happens when you work long hours, Perez. But you wouldn't know about that would you? Not with all the soft cases you get assigned."

"Fuck off, Goren. Don't piss on me because you miss your partner," he says, walking out of the break room with his usual arrogant step.

'_Nice Work, Bobby. Just alienate everyone in the squad,' reprimands the inner Eames in his head._

He knew that the entire squad was walking on egg shells around him and the only person he could blame for that was himself. Contrary to popular belief, he could function without Eames at work; he was a big boy with a stellar professional background and high solve rate that would make him a juicy catch for any department in the NYPD.

The fact was he just didn't like work as much when Eames wasn't there; her intelligence, integrity, instinct and persistence made her, in his opinion, the best kind of detective. Her sarcastic humor and loyalty to their partnership were just icing. But his fellow officers surely thought, as he could gather by the hesitant stares and quiet murmurings, that he needed Eames to reel him in when he got precariously close to the precipice of insanity.

It was to his own detriment that he doesn't make an effort to be more sociable with his brothers and sisters in arms. He truly doesn't intend on being a prick, but he has a nasty habit of being introverted at the very moments that he should reach out to others.

When he was in high school the guidance counselors tried to foist a label on his behavior – Antisocial personality disorder. Even at 15, Bobby had to laugh at their inaccurate and laughable second-rate diagnosis. He had read enough psychology books to know that he didn't suffer from this affliction. He realized full well at such a young age that he didn't function well under stress. And that's why Eames was such a rarity in his life – because she understood that aspect of him.

As Bobby sits down at his desk, he can't help but laugh at his co-workers assumptions of his mental stability because what they didn't know is that it had finally dawned on him that he wasn't going to fall victim to the illness that had stolen his mother's once sharp and nimble mind. Within this realization, he could safely admit that Eames meant more to him than a mere guardian of his emotional health. She was as vital to him as the air in his lungs and the blood pumping through his veins.

They couldn't even begin to fathom what he felt for her. He was sure that they all experienced deep love in one form or another in their lives, but could they really say that the person they cherished in their hearts was not only their best friend, but their one chance at happiness in the world. Because if there was one thing that Robert O. Goren was absolutely certain of in this capricious, ever-changing life was that Alexandra Eames would be the only woman that could make him yearn for a life that he never thought possible for himself.

Surely a man brought up in a desperately dysfunction household couldn't be able to understand what kind of dedication and emotional availability it took to make a woman such as Eames happy and fulfilled?

At least that's what he thought before. Before he heard those precious words pouring from her lips like a benediction.

_I love you, Bobby_

The echo of her revelation sustaining him during the days and nights without her, knowing that the changes within him fall nothing short of salvation.

When a person is blessed with such grace, such possibility, one must do everything humanly possible to make it happen.

And that's why he's been a source of attention in the precinct lately with his tousled hair and tired eyes. Bobby's been working at an almost relentless pace, attempting to fit all the pieces together and ultimately find the smoking gun that will bring Eames home.

So in the manner of a man with clear intent and focus, Bobby Goren takes another sip of his dark roast coffee and picks up his first puzzle piece, happily ignoring the concerned stares around him.

* * *

**Bobby POV**

"Captain?"

"C'mon in Detective," Ross says, taking his black framed glasses of his face.

"I received a text from Eames," I say, watching his eyes become alert.

"What did she find?"

"Well, the text was brief, which usually means she can't get away to make a phone call," I explain, secretly annoyed that I was denied the opportunity to hear Eames dearly missed voice. "She overheard Winterbourne talking and she just stressed the numbers '138'. Apparently Winterbourne is acting extremely worried and this number was reiterated multiple times."

"What are we supposed to do with that? I mean for all we know that could be his I.Q.," Ross says, clearly frustrated with the vague information.

"Actually, it makes sense when I think about," I say, stepping up to his desk, "Going on Eames' original theory, I looked up the addresses for Winterbourne's factories and I found one in the Bronx with the address of 138, in the Mott Haven section."

"How did you…" Ross voice falters, forehead crinkling in disbelief.

"Eames' first instincts lead her to the factories and it just made sense to look in that direction."

I actually felt my chest unconsciously puff up in pride at the obvious connection that Eames and I had even when we were separated.

"Anyway," I continued, not bothering to explain our mind meld tricks to Ross, "I didn't find any violations on record for this address. However, the city inspector that last scouted that location has since been fired and is currently on probation for accepting bribes."

"Alright, I'll call the DA, that should be enough for a search warrant," Ross says, picking up the phone with one hand while I begin to walk back to my desk. "And Goren, take Detective Segal with you. He used to patrol that neighborhood back in the day. He might prove useful."

* * *

**138 E. 139****th**** Street, Bronx, NY**

As Segal pulled up to the building, I took in the old brick facade of the factory built in the 1930's. The sidewalk was slightly crumbling and graffiti littered the walls.

"What a shit hole," Segal says next to me. "What the hell is Winterbourne doing in this place?"

"He says it's a community service," I reply, stepping out of the SUV onto the sidewalk. "Winterbourne likes to brag that he deliberately places his factories in poor neighborhoods so he can help provide jobs to the unemployed."

"Sounds like he has a good public relations agent," Segal says, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead while squinting up at the seven story building. "Hey, Goren, I know the captain forced me on you, but still, thanks for taking me along."

I give Edward Segal the first genuine smile I've had in weeks. "Don't thank me yet, Rookie. Let's find out what's inside first."

Pushing the heavy wooden door, Segal and I enter a totally different world. The lush couches and Berber carpet underneath our feet a stark contrast to the dilapidated and graffiti-laden facade outside.

A young attractive brunette sits behind a large oval mahogany desk, answering what seems to be a main switchboard.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you today?"

"Well, uh…," I say, leaning down and scanning for her name plate, "Jennifer, we would like to speak to your manager."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Nazir is not in the office at the moment, can I help you with something?"

"Sure can," I say, giving her a bright smile and showing her my badge. "You can call Mr. Nazir and tell him that we have a search warrant for these premises and we'll just start without him."

Segal and I make our way through the plush offices, ignoring the receptionist's warning yells about not having the proper authority.

"Doesn't she watch TV? What's so hard to understand? We're NYPD and we have a search warrant," Segal jokes sarcastically, walking in step with me. "I mean, even if she watched NYPD Blue just for the male nudity, she must have picked up some police lingo."

Rifling through their file cabinets I can't help but smirk a little at Segal's running commentary. His biting humor reminiscent of Eames.

"There's nothing useful here," I say, pushing back the cabinets. "Just your run-of-the-mill invoices and shipping bills of lading."

"Yeah, I meant to ask about that, Goren," Segal says, catching me with his young, alert eyes. "What exactly are we looking for?"

For a moment I feel irritation, but I quickly relay to Segal our illegal alien theory.

"Sorry, kid, sometimes I'm figuring things out in my head and forget to mention it to others," I explain, imagining Eames reaction when she learns that she finally drilled the finer points of communication into my brain.

"No worries, Goren," he says with a smile, "I'm just watching and learning."

"Let's look for any stairwells or hidden entryways."

"Well, let's see," Segal says, knocking his knuckles against any hard surface. "My mamma always said that the best kept secrets are usually hidden in plain sight."

After a few minutes, I hear the sound of a squeaky door behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Segal standing in front of a hidden doorway that he's found.

"I can't believe it. I wouldn't have found this in a million years," Segal says in astonishment.

"Let's move," I say, taking the lead up a narrow staircase. I pull my gun out of the holster and motion for Segal to do the same.

During our ascent up the second set of stairs, my nose is assaulted with an oppressive musty odor. The dirt and grease-smeared floors under our feet match the faded institutional green paint on the crumbling walls. The thunderous sound of a repetitive motion hammering in my ears.

We come to a steel door and when I push it openly quickly, brandishing my weapon, my eyes are greeted by hundreds of filthy and perspiring workers, standing at counters measuring and cutting fabric.

An elderly Chinese woman lets out a startled scream and when I put my hands up in a gesture to not be afraid, I hear the cocking of a shotgun to my left. Before I could move, Segal has already unarmed a man who by all accounts looks to be the manager.

After we search the floor, apprehending four other suspects, Segal calls for back-up. "And we're going to need lots of it," he says, scanning the hundreds of faces before him.

My head pounds and my ears ring from the various foreign languages yelling in a frantic manner around me. Taking the megaphone from an officer, I stand on a workbench and talk to the crowd.

"Does anyone speak English? Vy govorite po-angliyski? Ni huì jiang ying yu ma?

¿Habla inglés usted?" I say, hoping that someone speaks one of the languages I knew fluently.

"I speak English," says a soft voice from somewhere in the back of the crowd. A dirty blonde head peeks above through the throng and makes its way through the massive crowd.

She is a small woman with grey haunted eyes. The blond hair hanging down her shoulders in long stringy threads is pushed back by small fingers covered in numerous cuts.

"What's your name?" I ask quietly, trying to make myself seem shorter in fear that my height will cause her some anxiety. "I'm Bobby."

"My name is Svetlana."

My stomach flips and I can hardly believe my ears. Surely this must be providence, otherwise what would be the odds of finding her here? The lone English speaking person in a crowd of hundreds who could possibly provide me with the connection to Winterbourne and Patrice that Eames and I needed.

I stood dumbfounded, grateful, but stunned nonetheless. I was knocked out of my silent disbelief when a recently arrived Red Cross volunteer stepped on my outstretched foot.

"You have no idea how happy I am to meet you, Svetlana," I say, taking her fragile damaged hand into my own.

* * *

**Alex POV**

"Goodnight, Rosalita," I say, as I finish off a slice of Rosalita's amazing peach cobbler. The sound of the back door closing sends a thrill of relief through me. With the kids staying overnight with their grandparents and Winterbourne off at some charity function, I finally have a night to myself.

The past month and half has really kicked my ass. Between missing Bobby and my family and struggling to find any morsel of information on Winterbourne's activities, I haven't had a moment to myself. I can feel the exhaustion setting into my very bones and all I can think about is getting to sleep a full eight hours tonight.

As I walk back to my room and fill the bathtub, I try once again in vain to stop my thoughts of Bobby. Besides a few text messages, we haven't had any contact since that fateful afternoon in the bookstore.

_You remember that day, don't you Alex? When you were so intoxicated by the slide of his tongue and the caress of his hands that you opened your big mouth and spilled your little secret?_

As I slip into my vanilla scented bath, I curse the little voice in my head for being such a sarcastic bitch.

But the inner bitch was right, and she was always painfully honest.

With just one touch of his skin, I found myself opening up for him in a way that I never thought would be possible again. Joe and I had a great marriage, both emotionally and sexually. But god help me, nothing from any previous relationships could have prepared me for the onslaught of emotion I felt in those few brief moments Bobby and I had together.

Things would never be the same and as much as I wanted to solve this case and get back to being Alexandra Eames, I also dreaded it with a crushing fear. Telling Bobby that I loved him was certainly not what I intended, especially that afternoon and definitely not while we were separated. But it was as if something inside of me had woken from a long cold slumber and, at the first ray of sunshine, it leaped from its stead and ran to bathe in the much desired heat.

What does he want to talk about at the end of all this? As my mind swarmed with possibilities, both good and bad, I slipped my head underneath the already cooling water.

This is ridiculous. All this brooding and analyzing was driving me insane, I think as I pull the stopper and listen to the water drain from the tub. Drying off and brushing my hair and teeth, I slip my favorite white nightgown over my head. It's the perfect combination of comfort and cuteness.

Feeling more like myself for the first time in a long while, I shut off the bathroom light and gaze yearningly towards my small, but comfortable bed.

With eyes half-closed, I sigh in contentment at the thought of a night of non-interrupted sleep.

Suddenly, I feel a weight against my back and a hand across my mouth, silencing my scream. I struggle and kick out my legs and when I find myself immobilized by my captor, I do the first thing I can think of.

As I sink my teeth deep into the hand at my mouth, I can taste salt and something spicy on the stranger's fingers.

"Ow!"

Feeling a bit victorious, I once again struggle within the confines of the strong arms around me.

"Calm down, Eames. It's only me."

_**A.N. – Listen, this chapter was so hard to write. It took some many re-writes and several bandages to fix up my wounds caused by the constant banging of my forehead on the keyboard. Case files, at least ones with a somewhat realistic plot are freakin' hard! I hope y'all aren't disappointed in this…I have the next chapter almost done, so it shouldn't be long before I update again this week. Please press the button and send feedback, it's the only thing that keeps me going!**_


	13. Chapter 13

_A.N. - This is a shorter chapter than I would have liked to post - but it's been a while and I wanted to update for you guys. It won't be long for the next few updates. Chalk up the delay to the dreaded pregnancy fatigue that grips me whenever I sit down with my laptop. Please review...it does get me motivated. Thanks for hanging in there with me! _

* * *

Finding Svetlana was a godsend. 

When she walked through the mass of the downtrodden and revealed her name, it was as if her face transformed in seconds from one of an oppressed terrified young girl to a gloriously defiant woman. The simple act of disclosing her name seemed to help her regain her humanity amongst the squalor and harsh cruelty that had been her life for god knows how long.

Despite her frail and delicate frame, Svetlana seemed larger than life to me. She stood unflinchingly straight and steady, looking calmer and stronger than most Army cadets I have seen. I could glean just by her body language that she was a woman with tremendous pride, and to be seen in such a place, a mere prisoner, rankled her to the core. I was so wrapped up in the tangle of emotions inside my head that it took me a moment to see the dark shadows under her eyes, the jagged cheekbones and jut of her collarbone indicating severe malnutrition. Then, the subtle twitch of her lips betrayed her strength and I could tell that it was only a matter of moments before this wildly defiant woman would break down in front of everyone.

"Svetlana, would you please come and sit with me?" I asked, placing my hand gently on her shoulder. "We can talk and see how I can help you."

I watched her eyes scan the room, cataloguing the actions of the officers as they deliberately and methodically try to identify her fellow workers. When her eyes landed on the badge clipped to the lapels of my coat, Svetlana stared for a full minute before raising her orbs to mine. With hesitant footsteps, she followed me a desk in the corner of the room.

Once she devoured 3 cups of cold water and a Snickers bar that I had in my pocket, she exhaled a sigh and began to talk.

"Thank you. I feared that I would never get out of that building alive."

"Svetlana, I need for you to tell me how this happened to you," I ask gently.

"I will tell you everything," she replied, looking slightly more relieved than before. "But first, can you please help me find my sister? She must be terribly worried about me as I was never able to contact her once I was brought to America."

How could I look at this young, exhausted girl in front of me and tell her that her only link left in this world was dead – brutally murdered to cover up one man's greed and inhumanity.

Taking a much longer pause than usual, I realized that Svetlana had began to wring her hangs in anticipation.

"Detective, you must let me call Patrice. She works for-"

"I know who she works for, Svetlana," I say softly.

"How do you...?" she gasped, her eyes widening and moistening. The agonized look on her face revealed the trepidation in her spirit at hearing my explanation.

"I'm sorry, Svetlana," I say, placing my hand on top her trembling one. "Patrice is-"

"NO! NO! He said he wouldn't hurt her if I…"

Her anguished cries rang in my ears as I desperately tried to comfort her in an embrace, but Svetlana's body was wracked with tremors and it seemed that any kind of physical contact would only escalate her pain.

So all I could do was sit with her, keep her company and keep refilling her water cup after each of the small sips she took to keep her from choking on her own grief. After 20 minutes, the poor girl cried herself into exhaustion and I couldn't bring myself to question her further, especially with regard to Winterbourne or Mileski.

After escorting her to Lenox Hill Hospital for observation, I have now found myself standing out in the rain in the dark night, just up the street from where Eames was staying. The agonizing loneliness can only be remedied by seeing her, feeling her silken lips against mine. The gravitation pull of her essence threatens to consume me, but I know I shouldn't risk trying to see her.

Just then, the sound of a car door slammed and I saw a chauffeur usher a tuxedo clad Douglas Winterbourne into a stretch limousine and take off into the night.

Eames was so close, only a few feet away from where my feet were planted. Even better, our prime suspect was out of the house, probably for a decent amount of time.

My pulse beating like a trapped bird beneath my breast, I slowly made my way down the street and slipped into the alley beside the house. I had noted the security system in Winterbourne's home when I went to question him, and I knew that given the right moves, I could gain entrance without detection.

I knew it was a tremendously risky thing to do, but if I didn't get to see her, I was afraid…god, more than afraid, I was bereft at the thought of being so close to her and not being able to talk with her. She's the only one who could soothe the beast inside of me which was panting like a feral animal.

Once I cleverly bypassed the security system, I put my old military training to good use and stealthily found my way to Eames' room. The smell of vanilla and jasmine confirmed that I snuck into the right little bedroom, as did the site of her atrociously high black booted heels beside the bed.

Now, I just have to wait and hope that she's happy to see me.

* * *

**Alex's POV**

The arms wrapped around me hold me in a steel embrace, but I continue to struggle for escape. My ears flood with a thunderous sound as I bite into the hand over my mouth.

"OW!"

Feeling a bit victorious, I once again struggle within the confines of the strong arms around me.

"Calm down, It's only me."

_Bobby._

Every one of my senses screamed out in recognition.

Moving faster than I can ever remember, I spin within Bobby's embrace and wrap my arms around his neck with enough force to practically knock the breath out of him.

"Whoa…," he gasped, "I like this hello better than the one involving your teeth," he teases softly into my hair, while his hands roam the expanse of my partially clothed back.

"I can't believe you're here," I whisper into the warmth of his luscious smelling neck.

_Wait – what the hell is he doing here?_

"Bobby," I say, pulling back from our embrace and searching his eyes. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Well," he says, scratching the back of his neck with a bemused look, "for a multi-millionaire criminal, Winterbourne sure chose a shitty security system."

"I…what the hell are you thinking coming here? No offense, but this could blow our entire operation and-"

"Winterbourne won't be home for a few hours, at least," he says confidently, striding around my temporary bedroom.

"I don't even…alright, yes, he went to some charity function, but he's been known to leave early and if he catches you and me-"

I stop mid-sentence as Bobby reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his cell phone and quickly dials.

"Segal…it's Goren," he says, "how is it going? Yeah….Uh huh…Great…Keep me posted."

With a flip of his wrist, the phone is closed and tucked safely into his pocket again.

"What the hell was that?"

"That's our insurance policy, Eames. A colleague is keeping an eye on Douglas Winterbourne tonight and will call me if your boss decides to call it an early evening."

"You have Detective Segal, the rookie with those horrendous ties, tailing Winterbourne?" I say in a high-pitched whisper.

"Yeah, he's actually a good kid; he helped me today while-"

My mind reels in both excitement at Bobby's presence and heated anger that Bobby would take the unbelievable risk of stepping into this hornets nest with me.

"You are crazy, Bobby Goren," I say through a burgeoning smile. No matter how dangerous the situation is, I can't help but be thrilled that he went to all this trouble just to see me.

"But that's why you like me, Eames," he says, stepping closer to me.

"No, I like you for many things, not just your…uh, eccentricities," I tease back, "of which include your tenacious work ethic."

"So go on, Bobby," I say, watching the emotions cross his face, "quit being a tease and tell me what you know."

"Ok, Eames…After I got your message early today, I checked the addresses for Winterbourne's warehouses. Sure enough, there was a 138 in the Bronx. Your were right from the beginning – we found hundreds of illegals crammed together working in a sweatshop."

"Jesus Christ," I whisper, closing my eyes at what I can only imagine would have been a horrendous discovery.

"It was unbelievable," he says, "I don't know how they all survived under the conditions they lived in. The hospital said that most of them were suffering from malnutrition, anemia and there might be a few cases of bacterial meningitis because the bathroom facilities had not been working in a month."

"Wait, if you raided the place, why hasn't there been anyone here to pick up Winterbourne?" I ask, shaking my head in confusion. "I would have thought that the Feds or OSHA would be pounding down his door."

"Well, I might have….uh," he mumbles, his body moving nervously, "made a little deal with the Feds."

"What did you do?" I ask, hoping like hell that he didn't set himself up for any dire consequences if the investigation turned sour.

"I have 24 hours to connect Winterbourne and Lucien Mileski – if I can't…we have to drop the operation and hand him over to the Feds," he answers.

"So, let me get this straight," I say, walking towards my small vanity table, "if we can't connect these two mutts to our double homicides, in 24 hours no less, we'll have to give just walk away without getting any kind of justice for Patrice or Greg?"

I could feel my blood pressure soar at the thought of Winterbourne and his cronies getting away with murdering Patrice and Greg, especially after all the hard work we've put into the investigation. Turning towards the mirror above the vanity, I curse the frown lines and exhausted eyes reflected back at me.

"We'll make it happen, Eames," I hear Bobby say somewhere behind me. When I look up into the mirror, I can see him standing behind me wearing his favorite worn-looking blue jeans and weather beaten black leather jacket. With his bright eyes and errant curls spilling onto his forehead, Bobby could almost pass as a 19 year old. That illusion quickly disappears as my eyes meet his weary and what can only be described as heartbreakingly lonely brown eyes.

"Oh, Bobby," I say, turning to face him. "How are we going to find the smoking gun in 24 hours? We haven't been able to in all this time. I mean, I've been here for what seems like forever and I've only been able to get bits and pieces of the puzzle…what makes you so sure we can do this?"

"Let's just say that we have an ace up our sleeve now, and if you just give me some time, I'll get us what we need to nail this bastard," he says.

"So, you just want me to continue what I'm doing and wait on you? Sorry, Bobby, but you should know by now that being the passive player isn't my forte. C'mon, you're not even going to tell me?" I ask in disbelief.

"Nope," he says, bouncing back on his heels and giving me one of his half-smirks.

"I can't believe you!" I say, ready to bite his other hand for good measure.

"We found Svetlana," he says softly, "she was in the factory and I think, given the opportunity to speak with her tomorrow, I can get evidence that clearly connects Winterbourne and Mileski. I think one of them threatened to hurt Patrice is she tried to escape or talk."

"You've got to be kidding me? That's just….unbelievably amazing. She could be the key to our entire investigation."

"I know and I would have preferred to speak to her tonight, but…she's…the poor girl is sick and she fell asleep, hysterically crying when I had to tell her about her sister."

I take his hand in mine, knowing all to well how much Bobby takes other peoples' troubles to heart.

"Svetlana is lucky to have you on her side," I say gently, tracing the lines dissecting his palm.

"She has you too," he says to me, placing his warm right hand on my hip.

"Come home with me," he whispers, the sensation of his hot breath on my face sends shivers down my spine. He buries his face into the fullness of my slightly damp hair while pressing the length of his body against mine. I feel surrounded, protected, but also desired more than I've ever have before.

"I wish I could say yes to that," I utters softly, feeling his soft lips pepper the lobe of my ear with tiny kisses.

TBC...

**_A.N. - This chapter as well as the next few delectable chapters are dedicated to Alyssa (Scripted Starlet) - it's a thank you from me as well as the multitude of readers who adore/can't wait for more of your Intercession/Fallout stories. Thanks for all your hard work._**


	14. Chapter 14

_I like my body when it is with your  
body. It is so quite new a thing.  
Muscles better and nerves more.  
i like your body. i like what it does,  
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
-firm-smooth ness and which i will  
again and again and again kiss_

_-E.E. Cummings_

"Bobby, you know I can't leave here yet," she whispers breathlessly, pressing her nose into the enticing heat and tantalizing smell of his battered black leather jacket.

"I know," he says distractedly, lips and teeth tasting and tugging on the outer rim of her ear. "Can't blame me for trying though."

"No blaming, but I will thank you," she says through lips blossoming into a smile. "You do know how to flatter a girl."

Suddenly the bite and slide of his teeth are gone and he's pulled back to peer seriously into her flushed face. "It's not flattery, Eames. It's pure desperation," he says, his fingers tightening on her hips.

His soft, demanding lips are suddenly on hers, moving frantically and possessively.

All common sense disappears as Alex becomes intoxicated by the length and breadth of him. Bobby's broad shoulders and large hands embrace and cocoon, making her feel delicate and dainty, but no where near weak and submissive.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she languorously twirls the hair covering the smooth skin of his nape, enjoying the deep moans coming from the back of his throat into hers.

The slippery slide of sensations crashes over her as the vast expanse of his palm slithers down to cup her bottom and squeeze.

Alex's body flushes, infused with a burning desire to wrap her legs around Bobby's waist and take him into herself. She can feel the material of her nightgown being dragged slowly up as cool air assaults the back of her thighs.

The cool air acts as a reminder of their surroundings and she pulls away from his delectable mouth, retreating to the window ledge across the room.

"We have to stop," Alex gasps, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor in her voice. "This isn't the place for-"

"For what?" Bobby interrupts ferociously. "We've been dancing around each other for years …and now that I know how you feel…I'm…downright compelled…to not allow any more time to be wasted. So, I really don't care where we are, as long as we are together."

Each syllable and rasp of breath flowing from Bobby's captivating mouth causes tiny frenetic eruptions within her, causing Alex's silken thighs to clench – hoping to stem the maelstrom of desire threatening to burn her into cinders.

Watching her leaning down onto the ledge, Bobby follows the moonlight filtering down onto Alex's face, casting her in a sinfully ethereal glow. The diaphanous material of her nightgown is practically transparent in the light, revealing the lush outline of her breasts and hips and he knows that he won't be leaving her room tonight without showing her exactly what happens in some of his deepest fantasies.

"You don't have to do a thing, Eames," Bobby whispers as he steps enticingly close to her beckoning presence. "All I ask is that you relax, and let me love you."

If the seductive pull of Bobby's words hadn't been enticement enough, Alex finds her very breath swiftly stolen from her lungs as her tall, formidable partner drops gracefully to his knees.

Alex's white-knuckled grip on the window ledge behind her serves as the anchor to any resemblance of sanity that she might have left at this moment.

She's still blessedly confused as to how they have reached this particular turning in their relationship. She had to summon all of her willpower to break their embrace and remember that she must be the pragmatist in this situation. But despite her best intentions and valiant efforts, half-hearted as they may have been, she is now flushed and feverish with Bobby kneelingbefore her, his demandingly gentle hands upwardly cruising the skin of her calves and thighs, skimming the top of her flimsy nighty.

Struggling to catch her breath, Alex imagines the wild pummeling of her pulse exploding from beneath her breast. Bobby's touch and salacious words have blotted out their surroundings, leaving Alex with nothing but the feel of his mouth and hands. The Bobby before her is everything and nothing like she imagined. After all their years together, this is the one aspect of his personality that she's never been privy to. And while completely and earth-shatteringly aroused, she must admit to feeling just a little bit unnerved.

Because he's everywhere; He's her constant companion at work, the friend she can call at any hour of the day or night, and the longest-running resident that her heart has ever had occupy it. She just knows that once she lets him inside of her, he could very well shift the entire focus of her world. Because there won't be a place anywhere that she won't see him or feel him and it wouldn't be a difficult leap to the initial 'Can I use one of your dresser drawers' to 'Did you send the mortgage payment in?'

And isn't that what's she's been running from these past eight years? Running from real commitment…setting herself up, subconscious as it may have been, to be attracted to unavailable men? It's easier to deny and turn a blind eye to the unresolved pain from the past then take a huge risk on another man who would either disappoint you emotionally or be taken from you in the middle of a cold February night.

She knows that if she can't make it work with Bobby, a man she loves and respects more than anyone else in her whole world…well, she just better buy a few cats and invest in some sensible shoes for those lonely walks in the park during her twilight years.

Because once Bobby slips in, he will focus every little bit of his attention and emotion into their relationship and there would be no turning back to what once was.

And the knowledge of his passion and dedication, and what it would feel to have this man direct it all on her has her swooning like Scarlett O'Hara, and Alex curses herself for such a girlish weakness.

But then his eyes stray to hers and the fever there softens Alex, and she knows that despite the risks, she's willing to let him lead her tonight, no matter where it takes them.

She finally finds her voice when the feel of her nightgown's fabric is swiftly replaced by Bobby's smoldering hot breath against her skin, his tongue blazing trails of heat and wetness on a dangerously exciting path towards the juncture of her thighs.

"Bobby," she gasps, his name pouring like molasses from her lips, "Not here."

Alex's head jerks back to his face as the pressure of his hands on her hips and thighs increases rather possessively, and what would have been painfully, if it were not for the fresh gush of wetness it incites inside her.

"Yes," Bobby's says vehemently, swiftly and expertly plucking the elastic of the lacey panties and sliding them down and off her legs. "Here. Right fucking here."

Heat and pressure and sensation overwhelm every sense as Bobby presses ardent open-mouthed kisses on the inside of Alex's soft and silken inner thighs, while his elegantly long fingers delve into the slippery depths of her folds.

"Oh, Jesus Christ."

Alex sees nothing but millions of streaking stars and lightening flashes bursting behind her eyelids as Bobby begins a torturously erotic thrumming on her clitoris, while perversely teasing her with the reminder of how extraordinarily close his sinful tongue is from the source of her swelter.

She's holding her shrieks in, ravaging her bottom lip with her teeth to contain the cries of pleasure his hands and mouth are eliciting. The tangy taste of copper spills onto her tongue from the tear she has inflicted on her suffering lip.

_She is convinced that this man's mouth should be considered one of the wonders of the world._

Bobby can feel her entire body shiver and swim in torturous delight, teetering on the edge of orgasm. But she's holding back and he wiggles his tongue a little faster hoping to convey to her that she's made for this – to know pleasure and take it.

When he softly bites down onto her clit, Alex stiffens and strains her face up, desperately keeping her tiny orgasm to herself.

Bobby is nothing if not determined, hell, he's usually considered downright relentless and his mission at this moment is to knock down that impenetrable wall of control Alex clings to so acutely. He knows that it will take a lot of persuasion as well as proper motivation to elicit such trust from her and he's prepared to do whatever it takes.

Frankly, he's giddy for the challenge.

"That was just a little taste of what's to come, Eames," he says, "but if you want more, you're going to have to open that pretty little mouth of yours. I want to hear all those little sexy sounds you make while I do this," Bobby purrs, circling and sucking on her sweetness. "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

Gulping down huge breaths of air, Alex shakes her head wildly against the cool window pane, trying to desperately tap down the sighs and swears just begging to be released.

"I can't," she groans, wiggling her hips down onto his greedy and masterful mouth. "This place, uggg…" she strains, grabbing the curtain and twisting in a fist, "is usually packed…I can't just…"

"But that makes it even hotter doesn't it?" Bobby roughly whispers while swirling his fingers inside cleverly, resulting in a fresh gush of dampness on his lips.

"Do you have discovery fantasies, Eames? Is that what _I'm_ discovering here?" he insinuates, while the vibrations of his words send scintillating shocks onto her clitoris, making her squirm and burn and roughly dig her fingers into the peppered hair on his head. "Can you just imagine?" _Lick_. "Someone… anyone, walking in and finding you, sweet and good Alexandra with a very hungry man between your thighs? God if they could see you like I am right now," Bobby purrs, "sweating and swelling and ready to take me inside of you. Your little nightgown, hiding nothing and yet revealing so little. You're the sexiest woman I've ever seen, y'know that?"

"Look at me," he asks Alex, catching her eyes. "You want to let go so bad, but you won't let yourself," he says casually as he slips another finger inside, making her stretch and soar. "You hold onto that control of yours so tightly, but you can't control everything," he says, moving up and bestowing spiral licks onto her bellybutton, while one hand grabs Alex's right leg and places it over his shoulder. "And really, Eames, something like this you shouldn't want to. Will you do it for me, baby? Let it all go, let it spill out onto my tongue and hands. I'll take it and learn it and love it just as much as I love you."

And with a press of his fingers and a swipe of his talented tongue, Bobby has her keening and screaming and he's sustaining her weight until her legs stop trembling.

At first tantalizing taste, Bobby knows that he will forever be ravenous for the taste of her and that nothing and no one could ever remotely come close to this heavenly treat placed strategically between Eames' fevered thighs.

She's all musk and honey with a slight dash of peach which makes her the most delicious woman he's ever been with. He fully intends on feasting on her for the rest of his life.

**A.N. I know this is a bit short, but the next will be extremely lengthy and I needed to break somewhere and let my laptop cool down. Look for next chapter on Wednesday…I promise not to disappoint my very patient readers!**

**Big huge tremendous thanks to Scripted Starlet, LMR, Gorengal, EnglishJumperChick13, LOCIGrl06, & Boohoo650 – you ladies motivated me with your words!!**

**Please review….it really makes all the difference in the world! So please press that little button below and let me know what you think.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A.N. – Hey All! I must first apologize for the delay in posting. I really wanted to post on Wednesday, but I just didn't feel like the chapter was right and I kept tweaking. So, here is the next chapter and it's an M rating (so kiddies – beware, go watch something educational on tv for god's sakes!). Good news is that the pregnancy fatigue is waning, so I'm going to be able to update and post quicker! Thank goodness.**

**Wanted to give a huge amazing shout out to all of the reviewers – you guys rock my world and I hope I can do the same. In particular thanks: Twink20, Scripted Starlet (Alyssa – my little chica), Skzyp, Serienjunkie91, LeaveIt, Boohoo650, Leatah, SBBTC (Satisfaction – don't combust!), Vipercharmed, HenSleigh, Lynne Z, shippergrl25, Hope06, I-am-LMR, Metisse.**

Chapter 15

Alex shudders when the rest of the world comes rushing back, her body still throbbing and shivering from the explosive orgasm while Bobby continues nuzzling her skin, sweeping his deliciously strong hands across her belly and legs, gently bringing her back to him.

"Bobby," she murmurs in a sated, stratchy voice, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby."

His beautiful brown eyes look up and he is wonderfully golden to her right now. Mouth shiny from her and lips spread into a delicious smile, Bobby looks like a contented mountain lion, scruffy and mussed, yet still possessing a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Where did you learn that thing with your tongue?" she asks, deciding to bait the predator with a rousing teaser.

"What? You mean this?" he asks, making her shudder as his head descends and brings her once again to the brink in a brief ravishing minute.

"Yeah," she groans, eyes closed, swiveling her hips, "that thing."

"Do you really want to know?" Bobby breaths into a soft chuckle.

She laughs, "You're right…might kill the mood."

"It would take a lot to kill the mood I'm in," Bobby whispers, putting his knees and feet into motion and standing up without removing his hands from Alex's temptingly heated skin.

"Feeling pretty good about yourself right now, aren't you?" Alex asks, smiling against his lips, which she can just about reach now that she's on her tiptoes.

"Hmmmm…," he growls, distracted by the lusciousness of her breasts pressing against him, "Too busy feeling you."

And in once spine tingling second, Bobby has not only captured Alex's lips in a fierce kiss, but has pulled her up by the back of her pliant knees to wrap her legs around his waist.

_God, I love a man who can multi-task, she thinks._

Alex hears the crinkle of the blinds crushed beneath the force of their bodies as Bobby thrusts his hardness into her heat. She inwardly rejoices when her suspicions are confirmed as to what exactly Bobby has hiding behind his zipper. Well, she knows what it is, but goddamn, who could have guessed it would be like this. Alex gasps because she's never ever felt a man this unrelentingly thick in her life.

She doesn't know whether to laugh with giddiness at the imminent prospect of having all of him inside of her, or plead with trepidation of what Bobby might do to her with his impressive body and even cleverer mind. She'll be ruined forever and what's worse is that she won't care because after experiencing the finest, the very best, how could a girl complain? Might as well enjoy the ride and make it last as long as humanly possible.

_Doesn't mean I can't ruin him in the process too, she decides._

When her hands squirrel down between their bodies, Bobby groans as her nimble fingers make quick work of his zipper and then the sensation of her sweet strong fingers on his length make him cry out into her mouth.

Breaking away in search of desperately need air, Bobby retreats into the soft, jasmine scented curve of Alex's neck.

"Jesus…Alex," he says in a shuddering breath while he slowly thrusts himself back and forth into her left hand while her right unbuckles his holster and drops it onto the carpet below.

"So, this is what I've been missing out on all these years," Alex says, turning her head and nibbling on Bobby's ear.

"Ugh…goddamn…," Bobby mumbles, clearly lost in a haze of sensation.

And then he almost yells in despair as the heat and touch of Alex's hand disappears. He tightens his grip on Alex's lovely bottom, savagely enough to get her to meet his eyes.

"You wouldn't tease me, Eames, would you?" Bobby says in a dangerous voice while his eyes gleam with happiness.

"I resent the implication," she feigns indignation. "I'm a lot of thing, but a tease has never been one of them. But….If I was, it would have felt more like this."

And then her hand is back around his straining hardness, but now she's lightly and deftly smearing the wetness between her thighs onto the tip of him causing Bobby's hips to thrust harder.

"No, No," Alex says, holding herself up with her legs, smirking mischievously.

"Now, it's my turn, Bobby."

With all of her might, Alex presses her back into the window and propels them away and down onto her temporary bed.

Grunting beneath her, Bobby bounces on the almost miniscule twin bed while holding on to a bouncing Alex. Well…at least certain parts of her were bouncing and what a wondrous sight it was.

"Alex?" Bobby asks, lifting his head up so that it wouldn't hang over the edge of the too-small-for-him bed.

"Yeah?" she says, busying herself with removing Bobby's jacket.

"Are you ready for this?" he whispers and Alex halts her ministrations at the hesitation in his voice.

"I'm more than ready, Bobby," she says, lowering her mouth to suckle at skin on his stubbly chin.

"No, Alex," he says, pushing her back so they see eye-to-eye. "I'm not just talking about tonight, I'm…talking about us. Because once I have you…once you invite me _inside, _I won't be able to let go, Alex."

In that moment, Robert Goren did the one thing he always swore he would never do – share his heart and risk his very sanity in the name of love. He saw first hand what that could do to people and he promised himself long ago that he would never put himself in the same position as so many before him. His education began in Canarsie, Brooklyn in a railroad apartment where he watched his emotionally fragile mother plead with his emotionally detached father for attention and affection to only receive lies and unfulfilled promised. Bobby could never say for sure what made his mother schizophrenic – genetics or her extraordinarily poor taste in men.

In the Army, he must have heard a hundred stories from fellow soldiers about that "special" girl back home that they planned on marrying once discharged. Out of a hundred lovelorn soldiers, at least ninety-nine received letters from their "special" girl feigning sadness, but professing all was for the best, and that she had met someone new and promises that he'll meet the right girl one day.

For far too many years, Bobby had shut himself off from true commitment and devotion. It was easy really. Between the hectic work schedule of a Major Case Detective and the sole caretaker of an ill mother, Bobby effortlessly drifted from one casual relationship to another, never growing attached and never making promises he didn't intend or want to keep.

But here he was, throwing all of his fears into the wind and all for….her. _Alex_.

Alex who sat astride him with moonlight in her hair; Alex with her barely-there nightgown and peaches and cream complexion.

She's everything he didn't know he ever wanted.

"Yes, Bobby," she replies, looking like a debauched angel.

"Yes?" he asks.

"Yes to everything. I love you and I say yes," Alex sighs, rubbing her hands underneath his t-shirt.

"Alex…," Bobby whispers reverently, reveling in the sensation of her nails trailing through his chest hair.

"I won't pressure you, Bobby," Alex whispers, pulling his shirt up and off, revealing the broad expanse of Bobby's chest. "I know how you feel even if you can't say the words," she continues, as she blazes a trail of heated open-mouthed kisses down his chest onto his abdomen.

Alex could stay right here forever, enjoying the clean smell of Bobby's skin and the hardness currently nestled between her breasts. Her hands scramble in excitement and find the edges of both his unbuttoned jeans and navy blue boxers. With a quick and smooth movement, Alex slides them down Bobby's long legs, but is stopped by his offensively huge booted feet.

"You and these goddamn boots," she gripes, untying and pulling the offensive items off. "Jesus, there like twenty pounds each, Bobby!"

Despite the quick return of Alex's prized sarcasm, Bobby cannot stopped being mesmerized by the vision she creates. With one strap hanging off her delicate shoulder combined with the transparency of the material, Bobby's erection strains impossibly harder.

Alex can see the bright lust in Bobby's shadowed eyes. She has always been able to see him, the real him, by what she reads in his eyes. And right now, in this moment, she feels like a treasure, a treasure that he calls his own.

"Like I said, Bobby. When you're ready to say the words, I'll be here," she says confidently, "still loving you."

And with a slow pull, Alex slides the remaining strap down, far enough that the flimsy nightie floats down into a puddle at her feet.

**Bobby**

She's glorious. Sexy. Sassy.

And goddamn, she's all mine.

Here I am on the god-forsaken tiny excuse for a bed with the sexiest, most wonderful woman I have ever known standing ready and naked in front of me. But I'm not sure I can move. She's got me so hard that it almost hurts. We're talking six years of unrequited lust surging through my bloodstream into one particular body part – I'm bound to erupt like Mount Vesuvius and the fear of just that keeps me paralyzed.

Loving her. Of course I love her, couldn't live without her. I swear she's got the patience of a saint putting up with me, but that's not why I'm straining and suspended in this moment. It's her…and me and everything changes tonight and I'm part terrified and exhilarated. For so long I've kept my life on hold for everything else, but now, this isn't just about sex or even love. It's about where I'm going to be for the rest of my life and if I'm really lucky and can figure out how to move my limbs, I'll be exactly where I want to be. With her…inside her, next to her, loving her.

Well, she must be tired of waiting for me, because Alex is slinking up the bed towards me, stopping so that her mouth is even with the straining hardness against my belly.

"I've been waiting for this," she purrs.

And with one tiny hand she grasps me and rubs the tip of my length against her playful lips. Then her pretty little pink tongue darts out and licks a circle around the top, all the while gently motioning up and down on my cock.

"Fuck!"

My ears pop at the decibel level of my cry. She has me in the heated cavern of her mouth and expertly twirls, teases retreats and returns spurring me on to action.

The last motivating straw came when Alex engulfed almost the entire length of me and the sight of her fluttering hair on my thighs and her sweet hollowed cheeks electrified my body and I could feel all of my strength return.

_Yeah, what was that saying? Words into actions._

"Enough," I hear myself say in an unfamiliar deep voice.

I grasp Alex by her elbows and twist us so that we are lying vertically on the bed, and even though my feet hang over the bottom, I don't mind since I'm hoping not to get a wink of sleep tonight.


	16. Chapter 16

His first time was in the bedroom of his high school sweetheart

His first time was in the bedroom of his high school sweetheart. There upon the sugary pink bedspread, he finally understood what motivated his father to carouse with other women.

Jill Baylor was the first girl that went on more than three dates with him and never questioned why she couldn't go over to his house. She was amiable, sweet and loved to curl her fingers through Bobby's hair.

After school, while studying for their English exam, Jill decided that it was time for them to "do it", as all of her friends already had and she didn't want to be left behind.

Bobby's lips formed the words his brain entreated him to say, that she shouldn't feel pressured into doing anything she didn't want. But his brain was no match for his hormones, and when Jill unzipped his pants and laid her head in his lap, his vocal chords seized.

He remembers the warmth and smoothness of her skin. When their pants were flung down onto the floor next to her bed, Bobby shivered in both anticipation and terror.

He remembers a lot of awkward fumbling and a few brief moments of unearthly pleasure, at least for him. He was too inexperienced and excited to notice if Jill was enjoying herself.

And when it was done, in an embarrassingly short amount of time, Jill crawled out from underneath him and hurried to the bathroom.

On the walk home that night, Bobby thought that he was supposed to feel different now. Wasn't this supposed to be the rite of passage that made each boy a man? All he felt was disappointment. Was that all there was to it? Sure, it felt great, but wasn't there supposed to more? It seemed like a lot of work for just a few minutes of pleasure.

But maybe it was in his DNA to seek out momentary pleasures like dear old dad. Whether it be booze, broads or the ponies, Frank Goren, Sr., was Mr. Immediate Gratification.

Determined and hell-bent on never turning out like his father, Bobby began a life-long habit of denying himself some of life's pleasures. Despite the number of attractive, available women that had slipped him their phone numbers, Bobby became particularly selective about his companions.

If the lady was attractive, interesting, and tolerant of his unpredictable work schedule, he would make extra effort to show her a good time. He was raised by a strong-minded mother who lectured him on the correct way a man should treat a woman. He always made sure to bring flowers and call when promised, and never promised them anything he couldn't or wouldn't give. And this worked for him for a very long time, close to twenty years actually. But all that came to a shuddering halt a few years ago when a fetching redhead named Fiona suggestively slipped her number into his pants pocket. Instead of hardening at the prospect of voluptuous Fiona in his bed, Bobby found himself remembering that Eames had red highlights when they first met.

And that was the beginning of the end of Bobby's carefree bachelor days.

Because he knew that despite how lovely his old girlfriends had been or the fact that the city had a million interesting women, he was stuck on one quality woman and no one else could compare.

The dating dwindled quickly until one day it was practically non-existent. The temptation to open his little black book beckoned every now and again when his body naturally seeked release. However, his conscious would not allow him to use a woman as a substitute for what he really desired.

But he had never imagined, never could have hoped that after all their years together, he would have the real thing, straining and sweating beneath him.

But here they were.

Alex with her flushed cheeks and fragrant hair, opening for him, ready to accept him in the most intimate, trusting way.

They both shudder at the sensation of their slick skin sliding against one another, heightening their anticipation.

"You….," Alex says as her breath hitches in her chest. "You didn't let me finish what I was doing," she whispers, rubbing herself against his hardness.

"Not a chance," Bobby groans, suckling on the side of her neck. "That would have been the fastest and most embarrassing first time on record."

Bobby shivers as Alex's low giggle vibrates though his skin.

"This is crazy anyway," she purrs. "What if Segal calls and-"

Her sentence is interrupted by the urgent pressing of Bobby's tongue on her lips.

"Mmmmmm," Alex moans into his kiss. "You're right, screw Segal."

"Better idea," he says, bending his knees and pulling her up into his lap. "Why don't you wrap lose beautiful legs around my waist and you can screw-"

Now it's her turn to silence him with her mouth. _Who knew Bobby Goren had a filthy mouth in bed?_

Pulled by the heat of his kiss, Alex secures her feet on the bed behind him as she straddles his large impressive thighs. As she squeezes his full, masculine shoulders, she ever so slowly begins her descent onto his pulsing hardness.

Bobby tightens his grasp of Alex's hips when she gasps at the first feel of him inside her. With careful and subtle movements, Alex shimmies little by little down onto Bobby's steely length.

"Oh God," Alex groans, leaning back as her hands secure themselves behind Bobby's neck. "I can't believe…."

"What?" Bobby whispers, watching in rapt fascination as Alex's breasts bounce in time with her hips.

"I can't believe," she says, stopping halfway down, "that I have you inside me."

Her arousing words combined with the snugness of her swelter have Bobby thickening more than he ever knew possible. Needing her more than ever, Bobby's grip on Alex's hips tightens possessively and in a split second, while looking Alex right in her tawny eyes, Bobby's hips slam up into hers, sheathing himself all the way into her depths.

Alex's scream catches in her throat as her entire body is infused with the most unbelievable pleasure.

"Now I'm inside you," Bobby whispers against her shoulder.

**A.N. - I know you all hate me for leaving it like this...but remember that I'm a new mom and awake half the night! I'll be finishing this story up within the next few weeks. Thanks for all remembering this one...It means alot (reviews will get you the story quicker too!!).**


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